The sweltering days of summer is when my mind wanders to the lofty peaks of North America. Unless you like climbing with ice axe and crampons, this is the best time to bag a peak. This week, I’ll be discussing some of my favorite climbs in the States. First stop, mighty Mount Katahdin at Baxter State Park, Maine.
Katahdin is a fitting end to the Appalachian Trail in the north. Reaching the mass of rock atop the 5,267 foot summit is a challenge to the most experienced climber, even the AT thru-hiker who spent the last six months racking up more than 2,100 miles. Yet, it’s somewhat of a disappointment that the AT ascends Katahdin from the Hunt Trail, the easiest (if there’s such a thing) and least spectacular path to the peak. For an unparalleled mountainous ascent in the northeast, you should opt for the Knife Edge. Like the name implies, this three to foot wide granite sidewalk sharply drops off more than 1,500 feet on either side.
The best way to reach the Knife Edge is the Helen Taylor Trail from the Roaring Brook Campground. All the ascents are a struggle. You start at about 1,500 feet and don’t stop climbing until you run out of mountain. When the Helen Taylor trail hits Pamola Peak, a little over three miles into the climb, bear left to find the Knife Edge. First you’ll ascend South Peak, then Baxter Peak, the actual summit of Katahdin. Rest those spaghetti legs and take in the exquisite vistas of northern Maine—Chesuncook Lake, the West Branch of the Penobscot River, Big and Little Spencer Mountains, and all the peaks that form massive Katahdin.
As you gloat, proud of your grand accomplishment, just remember that Henry David Thoreau climbed Katahdin without a trail. “It was vast, Titanic, such as man never inhabits. Some part of the beholder, even some vital part, seems to escape through the loose grating of his ribs as he ascends,” Thoreau noted in The Maine Woods. No doubt, you’ll agree.
Last time my brother Jim and I were in Salem, we tracked down Cristom Vineyards and barged in on winemaker Steve Doerner. We had just spent a week traveling the Oregon coast and our favorite pinot of that trip was a Cristom Jessie Vineyard served at the Portland den of fine Northwestern cuisine, Wildwood. On this latest trip, we called Doerner well in advance and were greeted by him and the owner’s daughter, Christine Gerrie, the Cris in Cristom (along with her brother Tom). Many of the Oregon pinots are bright, redolent of fruit, have a fine nose, but on his small plot, Doerner has managed to bring layers of complexity to his wine. The Jessie, for example, named for the owner’s grandmother, has hints of black cherries, tangy plum, and cinnamon, with a smooth finish that will have you reaching for your credit card to order a case, the exact move my brother and I made. The Marjorie Vineyard, named for the owner’s mother, is bigger and bolder than Jessie but has that same soft finish, with a nose full of black raspberry. At most wine tastings, I’m happy to spit. But when you make it to Cristom as infrequently as I do, you take your time, luxuriating in the wine and drink every drop, even if it is only 11 in the morning.
Continuing north from the Acadian Peninsula, the town of Caraquet is best known as the home of 
When Mount Erciyes poured lava over central Turkey thousands of years ago, the volcanic ash formed a surreal, lunar-like landscape consisting of cone-shaped “fairy chimneys” and layers of soft volcanic rock called “tufa.” Early Christians found the pervious terrain ideal for escaping persecution by Romans and Arabs. When wet, the tufa could be easily carved like soap to make caves out of the pinnacles as well as underground cities descending hundreds of feet below the surface. Tunnels were carved into the soft volcanic rock that venture a mind-boggling 7 and 8 levels underground. They lead to rooms that were used to sleep, eat, pray, along with advanced ventilation systems and a well to retrieve water.
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