It may seem like a strange thing to say...
...but I can actually see the area I used to frequent many years ago when I was a teenager, and a member of the Appalachian Mountain Club that was based in New York City back in the late 1960s. I was sixteen years old when I first became interested in rock climbing. I always loved the outdoors, and learning to climb cliffs and mountains became one of my goals.
So on some weekends I would travel by bus to the town of New Paltz, New York, where I would group up with other young climbers, and we would make our way to the Shawangunk Mountains where formidable cliffs awaited us. We would camp there over the weekend, and climb. Seasoned instructors were there to teach us.
Several times per year, in the fall and spring, and with my dad's permission, I would catch a bus early on a Saturday morning and make the two-hour ride from Manhattan to New Paltz. Then I'd catch a ride from a fellow climber, driving several miles to those majestic cliffs. But after graduating from high school, it was off to the Army for me. And that ended my occasional jaunts to "The Gunks," as climbers and locals liked to call the mountain range.
Then, many years later, when I was transferred to Shawangunk Correctional Facility and went to the prison's large recreation yard for the first time, I was amazed to see "The Gunks" off in the distance. There they stood, shimmering in the sunlight in all their glory. I was awestruck. All those memories of my climbing, hiking and camping days came rushing back. It was surreal.
Now, whenever I'm in the main recreation yard, I can see the very area where I spent some of my younger days. And although the cliffs are maybe five or six miles away, I could still see the place where I used to camp for the night on top of one of the cliffs. It's the very spot where I would heat up a can of pork and beans or a can of corned beef hash over a small portable Sterno stove, have my supper, then sleep for the night.
Today, from beyond the security fences of the prison, I can relive some of the good times of my adolescent years. I never thought I would ever see "The Gunks" again. But here they are looking right back at me. Great Memories!
D.B.
So on some weekends I would travel by bus to the town of New Paltz, New York, where I would group up with other young climbers, and we would make our way to the Shawangunk Mountains where formidable cliffs awaited us. We would camp there over the weekend, and climb. Seasoned instructors were there to teach us.
Several times per year, in the fall and spring, and with my dad's permission, I would catch a bus early on a Saturday morning and make the two-hour ride from Manhattan to New Paltz. Then I'd catch a ride from a fellow climber, driving several miles to those majestic cliffs. But after graduating from high school, it was off to the Army for me. And that ended my occasional jaunts to "The Gunks," as climbers and locals liked to call the mountain range.
Then, many years later, when I was transferred to Shawangunk Correctional Facility and went to the prison's large recreation yard for the first time, I was amazed to see "The Gunks" off in the distance. There they stood, shimmering in the sunlight in all their glory. I was awestruck. All those memories of my climbing, hiking and camping days came rushing back. It was surreal.
Now, whenever I'm in the main recreation yard, I can see the very area where I spent some of my younger days. And although the cliffs are maybe five or six miles away, I could still see the place where I used to camp for the night on top of one of the cliffs. It's the very spot where I would heat up a can of pork and beans or a can of corned beef hash over a small portable Sterno stove, have my supper, then sleep for the night.
Today, from beyond the security fences of the prison, I can relive some of the good times of my adolescent years. I never thought I would ever see "The Gunks" again. But here they are looking right back at me. Great Memories!
D.B.
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