I usually don’t write about hiking trips, but this one sort of stands out, so here goes…
Back in 2019, right before the pandemic, I discovered the joy of hiking in the woods. Due to contract arrangements with a client at that time, I lived in rural Pennsylvania for nine months or so. There wasn’t much to do besides work, so I spent my weekends crawling around Pine Creek, East Goshen, and Valley Forge.
One of the first things I realized was how woefully underequipped I was for traversing the forests of Pennsylvania. That’s where I got my first taste of buying the wrong shoes. (Want to know how I figured out the right ones? Read here.) I bought something I perceived as hiking boots and tried to break them in. With… variable success…
Fast-forward just a few months, and the pandemic hit, and I am stuck at home with nothing much to do again. So, I started researching places to go and sights to see. Having recent fond memories of hiking, that’s what I decided to focus on. I went on a few easy trails here and there, and then I saw the pictures and the description of the Stairway to Heaven.
Located in Wawayanda State Park in New Jersey and partially touching the Appalachian trail, it was a tasty bit of heaven I wanted to get to. I put on my brand new hiking boots and went on a-hiking.
I failed miserably. On the climbing part of the trail, those hiking boots killed my feet. It was the first time I couldn’t physically complete the trail because my boots were killing my feet. From the middle of the climb, I had to turn back. Even though, even back then, I knew hikers turn back or cut hikes short all the time, I couldn’t help but feel shame.
I vowed to return.
Another chance to take another stab at getting to the top was a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, I arrived too late and was only able to do the easy part. It was already getting dark, and I had to turn back—again!
It became my white whale. Whenever I talked about hiking, I thought about Stairway to Heaven.
Anticipating a rough climb—AllTrails promised 889 feet of elevation—I practiced and trained for over a month. The goal was not just to get there—but to get there with a backpack weighing at least 15–20 pounds, wearing decent boots to protect my feet, and getting there before the dark.
I was planning to go in October or November when it’s cooler, the weather is nicer, and the sunsets are way more colorful. But after an eventful few days and a lot of talking, I needed to clear my mind and do something physical, so I just up and left. Didn’t let myself think about it too much.
Fully realizing I am arriving too late — again! — I rushed through the flat part of the trail. It’s a wooden boardwalk above marshes and a pasture—no reason not to speed-run it, which I did.
As I was doing it, I realized I was already hungry. Lucky for me, I found an old box of Madelline’s with five stale cookies. That, plus a bottle of water, is what I had for the rest of the hike.
The climb starts slow and gradually picks up the incline. At the beginning, it isn’t too bad. The last 250–300 feet of elevation are pretty much straight up on large stone stairs. I started having doubts about making it all the way up. I knew it was all in my head. While burning, my legs were still moving, and my feet, while hurting, consistently found step after step. So I kept climbing.
I didn’t immediately realize I’d made it to the top. The climb suddenly ended, and I was on a flat trail leading to a rising rock. I figured there was more to it and welcomed a short, flat section of the trail. But… that was it. I’ve made it. The view was gorgeous, and it was absolutely worth the climb.
A couple of things instantly came to me.
First — I wasn’t there for the view, even though through the climb, all I was thinking about were the views from the top. I was there for me, to prove to myself that any limitations that stood in my way were in my head.
Second — I’ll have to return in the dark. And I realized that’s something I was entirely unprepared for.
After taking all the pictures I could, I started my descent. It still took time because it was getting darker by the minute, and finding the trail and the stones to step on was getting harder and harder. By the time I got to the flat ground, it was completely dark.
The next 2.5 miles of forest and boardwalk, I had to run in the dark. I didn’t have my flashlight, the moon wasn’t very visible until I got to the open part of the boardwalk, so all I had was the dying light.
Again, I made it.
The total is 7.62 miles and 1,112 feet of elevation in 4 hours' time, including mopping at the top for 40 minutes while taking pictures. The walk is around 2.8 miles — depending on where you park and what you consider the beginning of a climb.
