What Happened at Katahdin

(I wrote this shortly after I lost my best friend to a hiking accident on May 24th, 2018. I hope that it gives some insight into the importance and impact his life had on me and all those close to him, and some comfort to anyone wondering where he is now.)

Those familiar with the Appalachian Trail to the point of the consideration of attempting a “thru-hike” will have at some point done some research or heard about Mt. Katahdin, as it is the northern terminus of the famed trail. In addition to being an entry or exit point (typically exit), Katahdin is one of the most prominent and majestic mountains in the Eastern United States. Though nowhere contesting the height of any of the Rockies or Sierras, its latitude and isolation make it a mountain exceptional in challenge and unparalleled in beauty. Though I have ascended mountains all over the United States, in the Caribbean and several places throughout Southern Africa, Mt. Katahdin will always be the ascension closest to my heart. Something happened as I climbed the Mountain and in the months and years since – something that changed everything.

June of 2016 was a time of transition in my life. I was moving from being a bachelor who was very used to his own routine and to living, doing and traveling at his own whim, to the lovely confines of matrimonial bliss. While excited about the prospect of living together with the person I was in love with, the idea of giving up these freedoms and taking on the world alongside a forever companion was somewhat daunting. I was a bit nervous and apprehensive about the gravity of the life-change. At the same time I was finishing up my first year teaching full time, and the anxiety of the coming change coupled with the stress of trying to complete all my teaching duties in a satisfactory manner caused me a degree of angst that I felt I needed an outlet to alleviate. Around January of that year, I became very interested, as an already avid hiker, in trying to complete all the state high points around the US. Since my wedding wasn’t until July, I was sure that I complete at least 3 or 4 by then, and then do more as my wife and I traveled over the coming years.

As I approached my new found obsession (as it quickly became) I knew I needed some compatriots to attempt the summits with me for reasons of both safety and solidarity. I didn’t have to think long of who to infect with my fixation, as two of my closest friends were avid hikers as well, both in tremendous physical shape for lumbering up and down mountains. The one, Jeffrey Lowery, a recent resident of the Hudson Valley region of New York where I live, had come to work on the local Air Force base. He had attended the same church I do, and we had become close friends over the previous year. The other, Kenny Steier, was a longtime friend who I had known for years and shared a wealth of life-defining experiences with. At times there would be additional add-ons to the hikes of one good friend or another to enrich the experience, but the core ended up being the three of us.

Over several months I began to make plans and plan dates. We would begin in Massachusetts (the Connecticut high point had already been completed). Mt. Greylock is located in the Northwest corner of the state near the city of Pittsfield. We rented a room in Pittsfield the night before and then ascended the mountain the next morning. It was a perfect day for a hike – about 50 degrees and sunny, but with a snowy frost on the tops of the trees that drifted down as the sun hit in the most enchanting way imaginable. The summit of the mountain has a very large memorial to Massachusetts veterans, as well as spectacular views of the surrounding Berkshire Mountains. We took a healthy amount of pictures to celebrate our achievement, and everyone thoroughly enjoyed the company of one-another. It was an excellent excursion and the weather was delightful, especially for late March.

The next peak attempted was Mt. Marcy, the high point in our own New York State. Though in the same state, it was the 5th farthest away from us, and so it wound up lower on the list of planned treks. The date was in late April, almost a month to the day from the Massachusetts trip. This time the weather did not cooperate, as we had a foggy drizzle the Saturday morning of our attempt that shrouded all the Adirondack High Peaks in a mystical blanket of white. Because we could not see anything higher than a few hundred feet, we had no idea what conditions would be as we ascended the peak, and had no knowledge of our gross unpreparedness. We found out our folly only too quickly. After about two hours into the ascent, we started to encounter deep snow drifts that soon turned into thick ice nearly impossible to gain any traction on with mere hiking shoes. By the time we could see the summit of the mountain, we were reduced to crawling, Kenny with socks on his hands as he had no gloves to avoid the cold sting of skin on ice. The visibility at the top was nil, but we were proud that we made it. On the way down the clouds cleared, the temperature rose and we had a beautiful spring day – unfortunately it was about an hour too late. Nevertheless, we had a very nice, albeit sore, walk back through the woods, and a similarly nice drive home through the mountains.

The month of May was far too busy for any excursion, but not too busy to plan one final adventure before I became a married man. After much research and building excitement, I decided that we had to hike Mt. Katahdin before my wedding. I made clear my plan to Kenny and Jeff, and they heartily agreed to the intrepid expedition. I invited two other close friends to come with us, with the promise that it would be a truly memorable experience and completely worth the several days of work they’d have to take off. After the Mt. Marcy preparedness debacle, I was somewhat concerned with having appropriate/enough equipment, but any concern was far outweighed by excitement – from everything I had heard and seen, this was truly going to be one of the greatest experiences of my life. I was right.

The days leading up the hike were anything but dull. As part of my bachelor party, there was a large dinner put on at the “Maya Café” where many and most of my good friends enjoyed a meal with me. My brothers and three of my closest friends, including Kenny, then whisked me up to the Western Catskills for a weekend of kayak fishing. On Saturday of that weekend I struggled all day to catch a fish, but right as we were leaving our reservoir I caught a very large small-mouthed bass, making the day nearly perfect. As the sun sunk we grilled steaks, smoked cigars and talked about our shared memories over the years. It was one of those times you wish you could hit a pause button and drink in the best life has to offer for a few minutes. We laughed into the night.

The next morning my older brother and I drove two hours to go to church. I threw the last few things I needed for the Katahdin trek together, and Jeff, Kenny and I left around 1PM for Northern Maine. My other two friends had made a head start on us, and had gone to get a hotel room for the night near Baxter State Park, where Katahdin is located. We arrived a little after 10 PM into the small town of Millinocket, Maine. After getting a few snacks at a gas station for the next morning, we drifted off into a restless sleep, eager for the 5 AM alarm that would spring us out of bed to head for the mountain. When the alarm came, we finished any last packing prep and headed out into the first light of morning. The sun lit up the Maine woods- never had any of us felt so remote, yet so together.

The first part of the ascent was through wooded, rocky escarpments that within a half-hour became barren scrubland. As the path became steeper the shrubs started to get smaller until nothing was left but rock. As there was nothing to inhibit it, the view became incredible. We stopped a number of times to take pictures. Everyone wanted pictures together and by themselves- Kenny wanted one with him holding one of his favorite knives. Step by step we made our way up until we came to a sign and a crossroads around 5,000 feet up. It was here that we began the “Knife’s Edge,” essentially the reason we had come to Katahdin in the first place. The “Knife’s Edge” is an extremely narrow (2-3 feet across at some points) ridge path that leads to the summit of Katahdin. On either side of the path is a drop of a few thousand feet into the valleys below on either side. A few hundred yards into the hike I began to have some pain in my foot – it was a manifestation of an injury I incurred on Mt. Marcy. With an ankle brace I struggled up the trail until we reached the “Knife’s Edge.” It was there that something happened – I’ve racked my brain about exactly what, but there’s no question that we underwent a spiritual change as we completed the last mile and a half or so to the summit. I don’t remember a whole lot of our conversation as we made our way across the ridgeline, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt so at peace, so tranquil or so “in the moment.” As a naturally worrisome individual, it’s very hard for me to “take it easy,” yet hiking across that ridgeline, I experienced possibly the greatest peace I ever have.

We made our way up to the summit and took ample photographs while chugging down water and energy bars. It was a “mountain top experience” unworthy to be compared with others. After about an hour, we put our shoes back on our feet and our packs back on our backs and began the long trek down. Some of ran low on water (OK, completely out, actually) but someone had brought a life-straw, and so we all got to taste cool, Maine groundwater straight from its source. At bottom of Katahdin, a picturesque lake sits hugging the northern slope. We stopped for a while to take everything in, then proceeded on to another lake a few miles away. Though the water was a chilly 50 degrees, it felt good to soak our aching joints. After only a bit more time we came back to our vehicles where we promptly drove several hours to coast to explore Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, ending the day eating lobster and muscles that had just been pulled out of the Atlantic (many of us agreed that it was the best dinner we had ever eaten, but I’m sure the place, time and company had much to do with that).

That was the day – fairly uncomplicated, very thrilling and profoundly memorable to say the least. But that wasn’t all there was too it. As mentioned above, I was at a time of transition in my life when we did Katahdin, but so were the other gentlemen with whom I shared the experience. Two had recently come out of romantic relationships, one was still healing from the death of a loved one and there a number of career changes going on as well. However, one particular member of our group was in the midst of a far greater transition – from this life to the next.

Kenny would not live two years past the trek up Katahdin, in fact, he was to pass from this life to the next almost exactly 23 months later. In a twist of irony, he would die in a hiking accident while lumbering up a rocky escarpment far less foreboding than that of Marcy or Katahdin. While climbing up a routine scramble in the Hudson Highlands, his hand found a less than sturdy place on the hill that gave way and sent him falling to his death. I would have accompanied him on the hike along with Jeff and another friend that Kenny was mentoring, but a work obligation saw me more than 20 miles way from the incident. Instead I received perhaps the worst phone call of my life that evening around 8 PM, a call that I will replay in my mind for the rest of my life on a frequent basis. The shock of the tragedy seemed to me more than I could bear at the time, and sometimes seems that way to this day, as Kenny was not only my hiking companion, but also my best friend of many years. We had seen the ups and downs of life together for the better part of 10 years when he met his untimely end. The loss is and will continue to be the greatest pain I’ve ever experienced (and I’ve had dysentery 5 times).

Time and space do not allow a comprehensive biography of Kenny, but a small piece of advising guidance will point the reader in the direction of where he can find out all about this truly remarkable individual: get to know Jesus Christ, and you will get to know the most important qualities of Kenny Steier, as Kenny was a man truly aspiring to emulate Christ in character and temperament, at least as was humanly possible. Kenny believed vehemently that his life was worth nothing if not for the glory of his Creator, Savior and King. Unlike many who venture into the wilderness to “find themselves” or to “experience nature in all its glory,” the outdoors, to Kenny, were essentially a limitless cathedral to the glory of the living God that he so delighted in. He ventured outdoors for his own personal enjoyment and enrichment, as well as the comradery that came with experiencing it with his friends, but all those things stemmed out of the glory of God on display in the majesty of Creation – a majesty that Kenny relished in and felt profoundly as he lumbered up and down mountains, taking in the solace and solitude of field and forest.

The point of this narrative is not to culminate the excitement of hiking with the horror of horrendous personal loss, as that would be completely contrary to Kenny’s legacy. The point is this: something profound happened to us on Mt. Katahdin. I think in some ways we all became different people, but thinking back over the last two years, I can say without any hesitation that Kenny definitely did. There was no dramatically monumental shift in Kenny’s life, but there was an obvious, gradual forward movement toward a deeper and more profound relationship with God that was spurred on to greater heights following Katahdin. Where did this forward movement stem from? I believe that it was a consequence of the worship and adoration of God that was integral to the hike. A lover of the outdoors who knows the God of the Bible can sing a worship song in church, spend time in prayer, read the Word and hear it preached or even simply do his early duties “as to the Lord;” all these are important forms of worship and adoration, but what greater form of worship is there for such a person than to see and savor the unbearable beauty of the Creator’s work from the peak of a mountain? It was worship in the most meaningful sense of the word – and now Kenny’s worship permanent and eternal.

If Kenny was experiencing a step in a journey toward an everlasting peak, than what of those of us who stood on the earthly peak that day – from where did the impact upon us come? The only sensible explanation I am left with is that we were impacted secondly by the incredible nature of the climb, but firstly by the simple fact that we were present with a saint that was steadily on his way to glory – how could we not be impacted? How could that peak be anything less than sacred to us? It always will be.

I can’t promise you, reader, that you will have any such similar experience if or when you climb Katahdin, but I can tell you this: one day your life will come to an abrupt end, perhaps, like Kenny, in a way that you never would have expected. I pray that like Kenny, you are ready for the final ascent. Get your equipment in order now.

Lord, lift me up and let me stand,

By faith, on Heaven’s table land,

A higher plane than I have found;

Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.