Breakneck Ridge

The smell of honeysuckle and heat greets you at the Breakneck Ridge train stop; a quarter-of-the-way up the Hudson Valley, half the Metro North train empties out beside the track. Day-hikers of all kinds, united in the belief that the first of June--sun-drenched, humid, and glorious already at 10am--should not be wasted in the City.



Shrouded in green, the ridge towers above us as we march en masse down narrow Route 9D to the trailhead. Desperate for the confidence of knowledge, we pluck gratis trail maps, and study the tangle of dashed lines crossing the Hudson Highlands State Park. But there's only one trail we're here to hike, only one direction--up.

Five minutes in, and your shins are sweating. This is not a hike, this is scrambling; less challenging than climbing or bouldering, but you are in constant contact with rock, eying toe-holds, assessing cracks, pulling and pushing with hands and feet with some innate fluidity, although appearing graceful is a dim hope. The trail--white blazes marked on the grey stones--leads up a series of manageable escarpments. Each step of this staircase provides a dual-reward: a moment of rest, and a view of the Hudson and Storm King Mountain--estranged twin of Breakneck.

You pause to wipe the mist of sweat from your eyes and marvel at the widening expanse beneath you. And you realize are not alone in your agony and ecstasy--this is a communal experience. "Why?" you wonder. "Because it's there," is the only sufficient answer.

Cresting the last boulders of the ridge you seek the relief of the forest shade. Blue markers join white as you follow the rolling, rocky path along. You encounter fewer and fewer people, and finally feel the presence of the woods: cicadas droning in the distance, sunlight dancing on the leaves, a green carpet of vegetation striving to eke out a life in the undergrowth. 

Your stream-side lunch break comes to naught, as squadrons of flying insects strafe and dive-bomb. They harry and hurry you as you swing back west on the yellow trail, a buzz in your ear.

Down the trail twists, before rising again to the right. You jump at the sound of a startled turkey vulture taking flight overhead. You've reached the summit again. The trees thin, the sun bursts from behind a cloud, and a gust blows away any bug daring to join you on this rocky outcrop.

You have arrived at your spot. After being chased from creek's cool waters you had given up hope of reaching this place. But, inevitably, it was there ahead of you, ready for you almost. And here you can take a moment to rest, relax, and reflect.