Photography and Essay by Hubert Schriebl
Last year I hit one of the “big” birthdays, and as I always do on my birthday, I climbed Stratton Mountain. I cut a small notch on the rail of the Hubert Hutte to commemorate my ascent. The trails were still covered with snow and I had a good run down on skis. The following days and weeks I repeated the climb frequently on foot, witnessing the changing of the seasons from spring to summer and fall and winter, each time leaving a small mark on the rail when I reached the top.
Usually starting at 6 a.m., I was able to avoid the wet grass soaked by rain or dew. I followed the rocky path under the gondola up to Interstate, which leads to the high west meadows. From there up to Times Square where Wanderer meets Drifter and straight up to the top.
I enjoy the summer sounds of babbling brooks, rustling leaves, the melodic sounds of mountain birds, as well as the sights of the ever-changing flowering slopes. Then there are the mornings when the howling wind pushes low clouds and fog, like ghost trains, over the mountains with a current only a crow would challenge.
By the beginning of fall, I counted over 50 notches, and I thought I could challenge myself to 100 climbs in a full year. But from then on, it proved to be more challenging. Ice-covered rocks and early snow would sometimes make the descent more difficult. However, I was often joined by friends or my son to share the experience (and make it more safe). By the end of Stratton’s winter season, I had four more climbs left to do, and on April 18th, I cut the last notch in the railing.
Bucko!My father passed away last year. We never spent much time together, so much of Bucko’s nature came from the other side, and in particular Grandma Moon. But there is a small piece of him in here somewhere. » read more
