Pilgrimage

Ledges

Raymond Strolin

I returned to the cliffs today, being drawn to climb this granite face once more. As I write from atop these jagged rocks my shoulders lean against a solid stone chairback and I am held softly cushioned on  pine-needled ground. Overhead a pair of ravens squawk at my presence, protesting my intrusion into their sacred domain. Looking west the clouds are slowly separating, carried along by stiff boreal winds. The patches of blue are multiplying and I see the sunbeams streaming down to earth as if lighting the way. As I watch this beautiful scene unfold I remember another day ...                           

It is a windy overcast morning in late January, the heart of the Adirondack winter, I am awakened from a deep sleep by a call to venture out into the forest. Life has been exceptionally stressful of late and I look forward to spending some time lost in nature. I quickly dress, toss my camera, paper, pencil, along with a bandana, canteen, compass and a Swiss army knife into an old pack. I head out from the warmth of the cabin with only a vague idea of where I might begin to satisfy this day's yearnings.                 

Upon finishing a hearty breakfast,  I decide to hike into a small lake nestled within the Pharaoh Mountain Wilderness area. Soon I am trudging carelessly through three feet of snow, finally stumbling onto a very special place. I find myself being surrounded by a deep and secretive silence. Sitting on a rock outcropping, that juts out into this pristine Adirondack lake like a crooked finger, I feel peace and solitude settling in around me. Across from this lookout are open-face cliffs, appearing as if some giant had clawed away at the bowels of the mountain laying bare its solid granite core. It is a precious, sacred moment and I feel this is why I had made today's trek into the wild.

After spending some time writing I am drawn to pack up and hike across the frozen lake. I arrive at the base of the ragged cliffs and stop. Carefully I survey the lay of the land, map out a route leading to the top and begin my climb. It is a slow, easy ascent and  I pause frequently to explore the numerous caves that hide along the path. Upon making the summit, nature gives further gifts as the cloudy weather is breaking with strips of sunshine and blue skies invading from the west. I take photos of this lovely scene and feel a great peace as I stand immersed in this beauty and solitude. I remain mesmerized, taking in the changing sky, while watching the cloud shadows creeping over the majestic peaks. I am brought back from this enchantment by a chilly shiver and I decide it is time to head back. I quickly find that descending in the deep snow cover allows me to sit and slide down some of the steep cliffs landing gently on the heavily padded rocks that lie six or eight feet below. I do this several times, the boy in me aroused by such great fun.

Without warning this frolic is blunted as I find myself on a ledge that juts out over the lake with a drop off of sixty feet in all directions. There is no ledge to slide onto and no way down. I turn around and try to climb back up but the snow and ice cover prevents any return from where I had come. I feel another shiver crawl through my body but this is one of sickening fear and panic. I begin to assess my predicament.

I soon realize that I have gotten myself into a precarious situation and one that is life threatening. No one will ever know where I am and no one will even know that I am missing until late this evening when my family will return home. The lack of other human tracks makes me quite sure that waiting for someone else to travel this way is extremely remote and I am getting colder by the minute being exposed to the freezing wind and the elements. I sit and begin to ponder my plight. The waves of fear are intense and I think, "Is this how I am going to die, freezing to death"

I begin to feel very sorry for myself and pray that someone will come and rescue me. After sitting passively in the same spot for some time I feel the fear and the cold beginning to paralyze me. Quickened by this, I make a decision. Afraid but determined, I walk to the edge of the rock ledge where there is a small mantle leading horizontally to within a few yards of a young white birch tree. The young tree has managed to root itself in a crack in the cliffs and has shot upward about thirty feet. I remove my pack and fling it down and with my back hugging the rock behind me, I slowly and gingerly edge my way out on the ledge. I take one step and then another along the narrow shelf. Suddenly I feel my feet slipping and dread begins to engulf me.

What follows seems like a move in slow motion; I feel a great curiosity about my death and an incomprehensible longing. I wonder--how long will it be until someone finds my body--will the coyotes and ravens feed on my carcass--what will happen if I break my back and die slowly--how will my family and friends feel--and strangely, I think about the messenger gods, Iris and Hermes with winged sandals.

The next thing I know, as my feet slip out from under me, I lunge toward the white birch praying that this little fellow will be within my grasp and be strong enough to hold my weight. I feel my outstretched arms clutch around this skinny trunk and my body slide down until it stops perhaps ten feet from the upper ledge. I am safe.

I shimmy the rest of the way down to where I can reach the base of the cliffs. After murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving, I collapse into a strange space. It is as if someone had whitewashed my life, all the unimportant business and unhealthy worrying are melting away. I feel clean and clear. I finally gather myself and head back across the lake stopping only to make a snow angel in honor of the gods that had entered my thoughts high up on the ledge. I return home to my cabin grateful for this glorious life and feeling blessed.

I have not been able to get this happening out of my thoughts and so today I return. I think about this sacred place amid the peaceful forest, the cleansing solitude and the meditative silence so longed for by my soul. I think about the spirit of adventure that woke me from sleep early that morning. I think about first discovering this wonderful place. I think about the boyish fun and frolic and its naivete that left me "out on a ledge." I think about the inaction and fear that began to paralyze me and the vital part of me who knew how to risk action rather than die passively on that ledge. I wonder if this was a strange yearning for death. I wonder if Hermes or Iris lent me a wing at that desperate moment. I wonder if a part of me did die that morning or was it a birthing, bringing me more fully into this life. I am left with an increased humility and an awe at what lies beyond our knowing. I feel happy to be alive and able to continue my search during this lifetime. 

If you enjoyed these reflections, we invite you to discover other thoughtful and personal writings in the pages of The Best of Pilgrimage and Pilgrimage Vol. 26 and Vol. 27. These can be ordered directly from this website; please click on " How to Order."

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