A beautiful, cool Wednesday in mid June. We all should be working. What better way to spend the day than a trip to the Gunks?

Being at the Gunks on a weekday is a revelation. Gone are the crowds, the noise, and the line-ups on classic routes. Sure, we aren't alone, but it feels like we have the place to ourselves anyway - and what a glorious feeling it is!

Have no doubt; going to the Gunks for a single day definitely constitutes an epic, driving-wise. (Worth it? You bet.) Leaving Boston a little after 5 am, we arrive at the base of the cliff at about ten. We start with an easy climb - I'm fairly new to leading, and my partner has only climbed a handful of times. A good combination - anything I can easily lead, my partner can probably follow. As I set off up the ramp at the start of the climb, the sun is shining, and the pervasive greenery moves slowly in the gentle breeze.

At the top of the ramp is a good belay spot, but it's much too soon to stop. I eye the GT ledge, and figure I can make it to a belay there before running out of rope. From the ramp, the route follows a big left-facing corner, before traversing out left, and up to the ledge. On my way up, I find a good spot for one of my new tri-cams. (This most peculiar form of protection finds its biggest legion of fans right here at the Gunks, so I figured I'd better find out what the fuss was about.)

The corner leans further to the left, and directs me out onto a face, across from which lies a perfect belay stance, maybe twenty feet below the GT ledge. (I'm running a little short of rope by now.) The traverse proves harmless, but nevertheless, I clip the rope a few times along the way to protect my partner. Arriving at my chosen belay spot, I construct my anchor. I sling a rock, put in four pieces, and clip a rusty piton. A six-element anchor may be overkill, but what's the rush - I'm not anxious to leave this peaceful, lofty perch. Besides, I need the practice!

When everything is to my satisfaction, I get comfortable, take up the slack, and put my partner on belay. The unmistakable clink of metal indicates that she's on her way up. (The unmistakable ten-minute delays indicate that my nut placements were a little _too_ solid!). After a while, a white helmet pops up at the top of the ramp. I hurriedly haul in the rope to keep up as she scampers over to the corner. (The rope movement pulls free that tri-cam, which slides down the rope to the next biner. I'll have to work on those tri-cam placements...)

While I wait for another stubborn stopper to come loose, I look out at the beautiful vista which makes the Gunks such a wonderful place to climb. I am fortunate enough to be visited by a pair of falcons, which glide by at eye level, no more than fifty feet away. Their lazy circling is quite mesmerizing to watch.

After she pries that stopper out, my partner's progress up the corner and across to the belay is fairly rapid - we'll have to do a harder climb next! She clips in to the anchor, and returns my gear to me. As I'd hoped, she's as elated over her first multi-pitch climb as I was, when I first came here. (I have always felt compelled to share the delights of this, most liberating of pursuits, just as others have done with me.) We stay a while to admire the view. There is something about hanging off a cliff, encompassed in a sea of rock and air, that soothes the soul, and calms the insidious anxieties of life.

I set off again on the final, short pitch to the top. Up to the GT ledge, weaving around a couple of large but easy roofs, and in short order I'm at the top. What a beautiful, fun pitch! A luxurious bed of grass awaits me, and two trees provide an easy anchor. After a substantial disassembly effort, taking down my previous anchor, my second climbs up after me, finding those intimidating roofs surprisingly easy to overcome.

We sit at the top, legs dangling over the edge, the sun on our arms, and know with certainty that life can be good. I think about those falcons, soaring along the crag. I wonder why we spend so much of our time pursuing elusive goals, and indistinct notions of a meaningful life,when we find the most happiness in the escape from such pursuits. Maybe I should have been a bird.