Climbing Stone Mountain

As I approach this story I am inclined to be defensive about what went wrong and make myself out as the hero. If not the hero, then at least minimize the fault, if any, because it could happen to anyone, even the best of us, which is who I am, the best of us, c’est moi. After all, no one was harmed, except for my ego, and we were only delayed slightly. Ultimately I did get us out of the predicament, so in truth, it isn’t much of a story at all and barely worth telling, except if Ann and John tell it, they would exaggerate my guilt, so it is best if I get my version printed first.

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, not exactly. It was dark, as it was nighttime, but not exactly, as there was a full moon. And the main point is that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so the full moon was causing the trees to throw well defined shadows. I don’t remember it being terribly hot or cold, so it must have been late summer or early fall. In short, the night, the full moon, and the cloudless weather made for the perfect circumstances for an outdoor escapade.

Whereas I’d climbed Stone Mountain many times before, and
Whereas I knew my way up, down, and around Stone Mountain, and
Whereas I generally enjoyed the crazy adventures my dad came up with that didn’t kill me, and
Whereas Ann and John were old enough to go on an adventure with me, and
Whereas Mom (Jean) generally had the good sense to avoid my adventures, and
Whereas I read too many books where the hero finds his way by the light of a full moon,
I therefore decided one fine fall night that Ann, John, and I should climb Stone Mountain by the light of a full moon.

They didn’t exactly jump at the chance to climb Stone Mountain at night, it did take some convincing. It is ever-so-much more pleasant to sit in a house which is devoid of mosquitoes and watch TV than to go out into the night and climb a 1.2-mile rock trail up a steep incline. Even so, their young minds easily succumbed to my superior powers of persuasion. “Guys, I’ve got this great idea! Everybody climbs Stone Mountain, but how many of your friends have climbed it at NIGHT!?” I raised my eyebrows suggestively as if I was proposing something totally devious, and grinned. It gets them every time. Doing something nobody else does is a must-do for every kid on the planet.

Ann, of course, wondered if it was legal to be in the park after dark, and especially up on the mountain after dark. She sounded just like me when my Dad suggested we shoot the 45 caliber automatic at the state park. Ann might have been heading into the 8th grade which would put John in the 5th grade. John would go along if Ann went, knowing that Ann wouldn’t lead him astray. Ann would go along just to witness my latest adventure. Jean would stay safely at home doubting my wisdom and claiming, “You’ve become your father!” to which I would reply, “There is no reason to be mean like that.”

With all of that as prelude there really isn’t much story to tell, which means it will take me pages to tell it. Stone Mountain was sitting right where I left it earlier that day when I ran around it. It sits like a giant overturned cereal bowl, round in every aspect. A road runs 5 miles around the circumference, which is more of an ellipse than it is a circle. The top of the mountain is 825 feet higher than the base and the walking trail runs 1.2 miles to the top. I call it a trail, but it is more like a recommended route to the top marked by infrequent splotches of white paint on the granite surface. There are trees roughly three-fourths of the way up, while the last bit is bald granite.

“Climbing” Stone Mountain is actually a misnomer. It is really a simple walk that requires no special equipment whatsoever. The only difficulties are the small boulders that regularly present themselves, and are no more difficult than taking the stairs two at a time. We headed up the mountain and made it to the top in little time. Navigating in the dark was simple. Stone Mountain was a giant overturned cereal bowl. Up was up. Wherever you are standing, go up rather than down. It’s not rocket science. There were 360 degrees to choose from for each step, but one was more obviously up than the others, or led to up. Go up. Duh!

The view from the top was spectacular. Without the humidity and smog of summer the city of Atlanta twinkled in the distance with 15 miles of suburbia twinkling at our feet. I am not going to spend a whole paragraph being artsy-fartsy poetic about how beautiful it was with a bunch of metaphors and similes, as if I knew what a metaphor was. It was worth the trip. I enjoyed it. I recommend it to you, but I am not going to torture myself, or you, by describing it.

Having accomplished the first half of our mission, it was now time for the second half. It was time to find our way down the mountain. I could see Stone Mountain freeway to our north. I could see Atlanta to our east. The trail went down the east side of the mountain, and we started off that way.

It wasn’t long before we were amongst the pine trees, which blocked the view of the freeway, and blocked the view of Atlanta, and blocked the light of the moon. Did I mention it was nighttime? Did I mention it was dark? Standing on one white paint mark we couldn’t see the next one, so had to guess its location and head in a direction that seemed reasonable. While heading up the mountain there was only one direction that was definitely up. At any given point coming down the mountain there were 180 degrees laying before us, all of which to some degree were down, or at worst, sideways. Sideways would prove to be my undoing.

I repeatedly got into closely packed trees and bushes that could not possibly be a part of the trail. I’d work myself left and right across the face of the mountain hoping to intersect the trail again, but recognized nothing. I was either too far off the trail, or couldn’t recognize it when I came across it, which was the original problem that got us off the trail in the first place.

Several times Ann would ask, “Are we lost?” Not wishing to scare the kids, and not wishing to acknowledge reality, I said, “We’re not lost. We are on the side of Stone Mountain in the middle of suburban Atlanta.”

Repeatedly I had to admit that I didn’t know if the trail lay to the right or left of our position. Our travel downwards became so tangled with bushes and boulders that it became easier to make our way back UP the mountain, knowing that we would run into the trail again somewhere near the top, and reattempt our trip down. It was becoming an effort of trial and error.

I have to admit I was getting concerned that it might take me hours before I got lucky and remained on the right route down. At the very worst we might have to spend the night up there waiting for the sun to rise so we could find our way down, but by then Jean would have called the police and the embarrassment would have killed me. I much preferred to spend the night up there than have some rescue party come find me in the middle of suburbia.

There isn’t an exciting end to this story. On one of our several attempts downward we were halfway down, but yet again off the trail, and stumbled into some experienced (presumably) backpackers who were making their way up the mountain off-trail. Through their tone of voice and context they made it clear that they were disgusted with this ignorant father taking his two kids out at night and getting lost. Still, they had mercy on me and pointed out that the trail was roughly 50 yards to my right. We headed that way, found the trail, and made our way down the remainder of the mountain without further incident.

Yeah, boring.

No doubt Ann and John have a much different version of the event, one that places all blame on me and puts me in the worst light possible, but that is their job, not mine.