Vacation Day 2: Gondola Races
Monday, July 30, 2012
Our first full day starts out late with all of us sleeping in after a long night watching the Olympics women's gymnastics qualifiers on TV. I generally have a no-TV-on-vacation rule, but that has to go out the window when the Olympics are happening. I'm a confirmed Olympics junkie.
It's a nice day, but on the warm side for hiking, and we're not prepared -- with two kids needing hiking socks and having left our water bottles at home. It just seems like it will be too stressful to try to pull everything together in time. So we decide to get to the top the easy way -- a gondola ride to the summit of Little Whiteface. It's interesting vacationing in this former Olympics town when the Olympics are taking place across the pond in London. I think that the quiet wilderness that was the Adirondacks probably started turning into a vacation mecca as a result of the 1980 Winter Olympics. The media coverage was intense, especially with the Miracle on Ice, and the village decided to capitalize on the fame and venues to turn this spot into a year-round sports training center. Last weekend the infamous Ironman triathlon took place here. This week is the annual lacrosse tournament, which has drawn players and their families from all around the country.
At any rate, we buy our tickets and ride the gondola up. Looking at the tangle of ski trails, I wonder which one was used for the downhill races back in 1980. I'll have to research that.
I've been looking forward to this trip up Little Whiteface for two years. There's a photo of S, me, and S's niece and nephews from 2009 -- taken on a trip we took up here right after officially being placed on the waiting list. We are standing with our backs to the actual Lake Placid (the lake, not the village that is located on the shores of Mirror Lake) and mountains upon mountains drape across the background. I included that photo in the photo album we sent to T -- to show him his cousins. And also to show his family a bit of the country where T would be going to live, since we had a second book printed up to give to them.
T was always fascinated with that photo. He looked at it longer than any other photo every time we looked through his photo album. When he had the words, he would ask me, "Where that?"
"It's in Lake Placid. In the mountains. I'll take you there sometime."
"We can go tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow; maybe next year or the year after."
This conversation happened a lot. Then one night he especially hyper-focused on that photo. None of my explanations of where it is helped. Something was clearly bothering him. He eyes started to fill with tears. "I don't know where that place is!" he cried.
A lightbulb went on in my head. "Are you afraid I'm going to take you somewhere you don't know and leave you there?"
Huge sobs as he nodded yes. Sobs and sobs and sobs. All I could do was hold him and say that would never happen. "I will never take you somewhere and leave you." Oh this poor boy who'd lived through that already more than once in his life. I vowed that we would take him to that spot in the photo at our first opportunity so he could see it for real and be able to place it in his own mind, and not be afraid of it anymore.
So finally that time is here, as we step off the gondola. "I want to see the highest mountain!" T exclaims.
"Ok," I say, and then I make my mistake. "But first I want to show you something."
He is excited beyond words to be able to run around on top of a mountain and see all the other mountains. In that moment he doesn't care about seeing the spot where the photo in his photo album was taken, much less have his photo taken in the same spot. But I of course insist on showing him and getting our photo taken. On a smarter day, I would have let the excitement of the ride and the place lessen and then take him to the photo spot when he was more receptive to seeing it and appreciating it. So huge Mommy letdown. Oh well, maybe he'll appreciate the photo when he has one in hand to compare to the one that's in his photo album.
We eat lunch and then hike partway up the ski trail to the top of Big Whiteface. Someday I want to hike this mountain, one of the Adirondack High Peaks -- the 46 mountains in this range that are 4000 feet or higher. For those who live in the western part of this country, that might seem like small potatoes, but this is some of the toughest, most rugged hiking in the country. Apparently the concept of a switchback did not exist when these trails were carved out. And the final ascent of Whiteface is so steep that it requires a rope hold. That will be a full valium moment for me.
I'm saving my chondromalascia patella knees for a real hike tomorrow, and Bear -- T's cousin who we brought along for companionship for him -- is tired, so we wait while T and Daddy hike up a bit further. While waiting, I finally have the right angle to pick out Mt. Marcy, New York's tallest mountain -- and the first High Peak I climbed. Why start out easy and work your way up? I was 18 and we just tied up our boots, strapped on our packs, and headed out for a 16-mile loop -- up, over and back. I'm glad I did it then, because it wouldn't happen now. Not with my deteriorating knees and feet.
T and Daddy come back, and I point it out. T is delighted to finally see "the highest mountain." The concept of it being only the highest mountain in New York is either lost or he understands that the Himalayas are really far away and not likely to be viewed on a vacation trip anytime soon.
I also point out Algonquin, New York's second highest mountain -- off to the right of Marcy. That was my second High Peak -- climbed 22 years after my first. Better late than never! It was my 40th birthday present to myself. I figured I could either celebrate in a big way or piss and moan about getting older. I chose the first option. As it turned out, in late April when the rest of the landscape is mostly free of snow, Algonquin still has quite a snowpack. So even though it can't be counted as a winter ascent -- since it was after April 1 -- it was effectively a winter climb. I've done three other High Peaks since then and then my feet quit on me. I was hoping to take T up his first this trip -- Cascade -- the easiest of them all, but this year it was my knees that said, "No way."
As they say, there's always next year. With any luck.
On our gondola ride down, we spot a fawn grazing on the ski trail. Then we get to the platform where we need to get out and T jumps up so quickly to be first to the door -- it's always a race for him to be first -- that he falls inside the gondola. I make him sit while Bear gets the chance to be first out. Then of course, he deliberately moves like a snail and nearly takes a trip back up the mountain, it takes him so long to get out.
This vacation thing has him so excited that he's having trouble regulating his behavior. I try to explain that there's no need to be first all the time. "If there's a race, there is," he retorts.
"Do you see a finish line? Do you see people running? Do you see water stops and timing clocks? This is not a race. We do try to be first in a race but right now we're just having a fun time with our family." And then I tell him he needs to figure out how to get himself out of his crabby mood by the time we reach the car or he will not get to go to the beach when we get back. And we are all very hot and sweaty, and a swim in the cool waters of Mirror Lake seems like just the ticket.
He tries very hard, but doesn't succeed. But by the time we get to the mountain sports shop to pick up water bottles and socks -- and apparently a Camelback water backpack for myself -- he steps out of the van and sincerely apologizes to me with a hug. And the best part is that he's not doing it to try to get his beach time back; he's actually surprised when we get to the condo and I tell him to get his bathing suit on. He's just truly sorry for getting so angry and has found a place within himself to be able to apologize just because he's sorry -- and not because he has to.
We take our progress however tiny the steps might be -- the same way we get up and down mountains. I am very proud of him.
Morning from our condo's upper deck. Not a bad way to start a day.
At any rate, we buy our tickets and ride the gondola up. Looking at the tangle of ski trails, I wonder which one was used for the downhill races back in 1980. I'll have to research that.
I've been looking forward to this trip up Little Whiteface for two years. There's a photo of S, me, and S's niece and nephews from 2009 -- taken on a trip we took up here right after officially being placed on the waiting list. We are standing with our backs to the actual Lake Placid (the lake, not the village that is located on the shores of Mirror Lake) and mountains upon mountains drape across the background. I included that photo in the photo album we sent to T -- to show him his cousins. And also to show his family a bit of the country where T would be going to live, since we had a second book printed up to give to them.
T was always fascinated with that photo. He looked at it longer than any other photo every time we looked through his photo album. When he had the words, he would ask me, "Where that?"
"It's in Lake Placid. In the mountains. I'll take you there sometime."
"We can go tomorrow?"
"Not tomorrow; maybe next year or the year after."
This conversation happened a lot. Then one night he especially hyper-focused on that photo. None of my explanations of where it is helped. Something was clearly bothering him. He eyes started to fill with tears. "I don't know where that place is!" he cried.
A lightbulb went on in my head. "Are you afraid I'm going to take you somewhere you don't know and leave you there?"
Huge sobs as he nodded yes. Sobs and sobs and sobs. All I could do was hold him and say that would never happen. "I will never take you somewhere and leave you." Oh this poor boy who'd lived through that already more than once in his life. I vowed that we would take him to that spot in the photo at our first opportunity so he could see it for real and be able to place it in his own mind, and not be afraid of it anymore.
So finally that time is here, as we step off the gondola. "I want to see the highest mountain!" T exclaims.
"Ok," I say, and then I make my mistake. "But first I want to show you something."
He is excited beyond words to be able to run around on top of a mountain and see all the other mountains. In that moment he doesn't care about seeing the spot where the photo in his photo album was taken, much less have his photo taken in the same spot. But I of course insist on showing him and getting our photo taken. On a smarter day, I would have let the excitement of the ride and the place lessen and then take him to the photo spot when he was more receptive to seeing it and appreciating it. So huge Mommy letdown. Oh well, maybe he'll appreciate the photo when he has one in hand to compare to the one that's in his photo album.
Photo that appears in the photo album we sent to T. Niece, A, S, me,
Nephew J (Bear's father), and Nephew Long Legs.
This year's photo. S, me, T, and Bear. I'm looking like I'm trying hard not to be stressed. T is smiling gamely but in a hurry to get this over with. There's exploring to be done! (Note my full backpack -- something that will not be seen on a future summit photo -- stay tuned for a future installment in which we learn never to be complacent in the mountains.)
We eat lunch and then hike partway up the ski trail to the top of Big Whiteface. Someday I want to hike this mountain, one of the Adirondack High Peaks -- the 46 mountains in this range that are 4000 feet or higher. For those who live in the western part of this country, that might seem like small potatoes, but this is some of the toughest, most rugged hiking in the country. Apparently the concept of a switchback did not exist when these trails were carved out. And the final ascent of Whiteface is so steep that it requires a rope hold. That will be a full valium moment for me.
I'm saving my chondromalascia patella knees for a real hike tomorrow, and Bear -- T's cousin who we brought along for companionship for him -- is tired, so we wait while T and Daddy hike up a bit further. While waiting, I finally have the right angle to pick out Mt. Marcy, New York's tallest mountain -- and the first High Peak I climbed. Why start out easy and work your way up? I was 18 and we just tied up our boots, strapped on our packs, and headed out for a 16-mile loop -- up, over and back. I'm glad I did it then, because it wouldn't happen now. Not with my deteriorating knees and feet.
T and Daddy come back, and I point it out. T is delighted to finally see "the highest mountain." The concept of it being only the highest mountain in New York is either lost or he understands that the Himalayas are really far away and not likely to be viewed on a vacation trip anytime soon.
Mount Marcy from the col between Whiteface and Little Whiteface, in the middle of the right half of the photo. She doesn't need to be pointy or jagged, just grand,
with long flanks leading to her summit. She is nearly in the clouds in this photo.
I also point out Algonquin, New York's second highest mountain -- off to the right of Marcy. That was my second High Peak -- climbed 22 years after my first. Better late than never! It was my 40th birthday present to myself. I figured I could either celebrate in a big way or piss and moan about getting older. I chose the first option. As it turned out, in late April when the rest of the landscape is mostly free of snow, Algonquin still has quite a snowpack. So even though it can't be counted as a winter ascent -- since it was after April 1 -- it was effectively a winter climb. I've done three other High Peaks since then and then my feet quit on me. I was hoping to take T up his first this trip -- Cascade -- the easiest of them all, but this year it was my knees that said, "No way."
On our gondola ride down, we spot a fawn grazing on the ski trail. Then we get to the platform where we need to get out and T jumps up so quickly to be first to the door -- it's always a race for him to be first -- that he falls inside the gondola. I make him sit while Bear gets the chance to be first out. Then of course, he deliberately moves like a snail and nearly takes a trip back up the mountain, it takes him so long to get out.
This vacation thing has him so excited that he's having trouble regulating his behavior. I try to explain that there's no need to be first all the time. "If there's a race, there is," he retorts.
"Do you see a finish line? Do you see people running? Do you see water stops and timing clocks? This is not a race. We do try to be first in a race but right now we're just having a fun time with our family." And then I tell him he needs to figure out how to get himself out of his crabby mood by the time we reach the car or he will not get to go to the beach when we get back. And we are all very hot and sweaty, and a swim in the cool waters of Mirror Lake seems like just the ticket.
He tries very hard, but doesn't succeed. But by the time we get to the mountain sports shop to pick up water bottles and socks -- and apparently a Camelback water backpack for myself -- he steps out of the van and sincerely apologizes to me with a hug. And the best part is that he's not doing it to try to get his beach time back; he's actually surprised when we get to the condo and I tell him to get his bathing suit on. He's just truly sorry for getting so angry and has found a place within himself to be able to apologize just because he's sorry -- and not because he has to.
That is wonderful! (And what a great setting to make progress in - gorgeous.) I can see now with Yosi this clear pattern - fear is triggered > regression > he articulates the fear > emotional growth spurt.
ReplyDeleteGreat post, Karen, I always learn a lot from you.
ReplyDeleteLove the photos...and the learning that goes along with them.
ReplyDelete