Enjoying one of the Tupper Triads. (Provided photo — Jack Drury)

There was an excellent letter to the Enterprise last week from a writer in Remson lamenting that too many aspiring 46ers put more importance on “… earning the 46-peak badge … than with truly experiencing and understanding the Adirondacks.” I used to wholeheartedly agree with this, but I’ve come to have a much more nuanced view.

I climbed my first 46er in 1968 and didn’t finish until 36 years later. I took so long for the reasons the author espoused: I was interested not just in climbing the peaks, but in learning about the Park’s political and natural history; and exploring different areas; and in finding solitude, a characteristic of Wilderness I cherish.

As a wilderness leader I was also constantly looking for places that provided the best learning experiences. Once I found them, I returned to them time after time because they were so predictable.

For example, bushwhacking up St. Regis Mountain from Fish Pond is excellent for a novice’s first map and compass hike: It’s almost impossible to fail summiting, and the return trip offers challenging decision making.

Another example: When bushwhacking to a nameless pond east of Raquette Falls, if students don’t consider declination (the difference between true north and magnetic north), they’re likely to miss the pond entirely. And thus provide another perfect learning experience.

But, for me, exploring new High Peaks was done only when the chance arose, and was not a priority.

I had several great 46er mentors, some of them having climbed them all a dozen or more times. They encouraged, cajoled and sometimes led me up some of them. One mentor was a great guy, although not a particularly great outdoorsman. His map and compass skills were barely adequate, and his knowledge of natural history was poor. I remember him identifying a tree to a companion as a Balsam when in reality it was a Hemlock. According to the letter writer my mentor was deficient, but I look at it differently.

So here’s where my nuanced view comes into play, and how I differ from the gentleman from Remsen. People who become a 46er, a Saranac Lake 6er, complete the Tupper Triad or the myriad of other outdoor challenges, all have one thing in common — they’ve gotten outdoors. I’ve encountered too many people that wouldn’t have gotten off their couch if it weren’t for the organized challenges they’d undertaken. It’s one of the reasons I became such a vocal supporter of the Saranac Lake 6. I realize these challenges can trigger problems such as parking, trail maintenance and litter (among others), but they’re relatively minor problems to solve and the benefits far outweigh the problems.

If folks end up proud of their accomplishments, even if they’ve learned little about the outdoors or the Adirondacks, they’re likely to become advocates for protecting wildlands. I would suggest there are only three things they MUST learn. They must know how to be safe, i.e., properly dressed, equipped and nourished for their travels; they must know the basics of emergency preparedness, i.e., who to contact in an emergency; and they must know the basic Leave No Trace practices. Everything else is gravy.

Experiential learning is a wonderful thing and hopefully those that complete the 46 highest peaks in New York or some less ambitious challenge learn many lessons. Frequently, learning from an experience is more important than the experience itself. All too frequently nothing is learned. Wilderness Education pioneer Paul Petzoldt frequently told the story of cowboys not learning from their years of experience. “They have eons of experience, but many still freeze their ears in winter.” What we need is for cowboys to debrief their experience. It might go something like this: The head cowboy says, “Well boys, how’d the winter round up go?” A cow hand missing the tips of his ears says, “I guess I’d like to try earmuffs next winter.” The trail boss, also missing the tips of his ears, is missing something else as well when he says, “Good idea but I ain’t gonna do it.”

We need to encourage hikers to reflect on their experiences. We all need to ask the questions: What worked well? What didn’t work so well? What did I forget to bring? How can I make sure I don’t forget it the next time? Even though I didn’t need any of my emergency gear such as a flashlight or first aid kit, is it still ready and in working order for the special time that I do need it?

Do we want aspiring hikers to become accomplished outdoors people, to learn about the geology, biology, philosophy and human history of the park? Do we want them to develop a more meaningful and intimate relationship with the park? Do we want them to have a deeper understanding of the park’s ecosystems? Do we want them to slow down and appreciate the park’s beauty and want to protect the park for future generations?

Of course we do. But it doesn’t happen all at once. We need to encourage people to become lifelong learners with a passion for understanding the world around them. As long as they’re safe and practicing the Leave No Trace practices I’ll be delighted.

I’d like to think that spending time outdoors builds a love of the outdoors, a love of the region and over time, a desire to become more knowledgeable about it. But if it doesn’t, that’s all right too. You’ll still be a winner. It doesn’t matter if you hike grand Mount Marcy or tiny Baker Mountain. It isn’t the distance or elevation you hike. It isn’t the number of peaks you hike.

What’s meaningful is just getting off the couch and into the outdoors.