Tom FrenchAuthor | Mountaineer | Skier

Five years ago, after returning from my first attempt on Everest, I joined my Everest tent-mate Thomas on one of his favorite hikes: The Great Range Traverse. The traverse covers twenty-two miles and crosses eight of the highest peaks in the Adirondacks. One of these is Mount Marcy, the tallest mountain in New York state. We started in darkness at 5:00am, at the Rooster Comb trailhead in Keene Valley. We finished, again in darkness, at 8:00pm at the Adirondak Loj, not far from Lake Placid. It was one of those memorable days in the mountains that I would not have experienced without the encouragement of a friend. I was grateful for every bit of it.

Several things stood out that day. One was the sheer ruggedness and beauty of the Adirondack High Peaks region. I had been in the area multiple times over the years, for cross-country ski races and to visit friends in lakefront “camps,” but I had never really hiked in it. Living in the Boston area, it is easy to fall into a default mode of heading north to the White Mountains or Green Mountains. The Adirondacks have a special charm. In another life, I would welcome the chance to immerse myself more deeply in it. Another thing that stood out that day was the satisfaction that comes from extreme physical challenge, and the strong connection said challenge can engender with a particular landscape or place. When Thomas and I walked our final mile on thoroughly spent legs, after fifteen hours of punishing hiking, there was nothing else I would rather have spent the day doing. In the days that followed, I felt a newfound kinship with the terrain we had covered.

Here are a couple of photos from our 2021 traverse:

Thomas signing in at the trailhead: October, 2021

Approaching the summit of Mount Marcy: October, 2021

Earlier this week, I returned to Keene Valley and the Great Range to give a book talk, sponsored by a local climbing shop named The Mountaineer. There was a lot to love in my return.

First was the shop itself. It was reminiscent of the climbing equipment store my father owned in my youth, where I spent countless hours in the book section reading expedition accounts, and in which I had my first summer job working the cash register. The climbers who frequented the shop were childhood heroes, and the store environment was foundational in shaping my love of the mountains and the outdoors. Specialty equipment retailers like this are increasingly hard to find, but happily a few still exist. The Mountaineer is one of them.

Charlie Wise, the current owner, took over stewardship of The Mountaineer six years ago. Under his leadership, it continues to thrive. Equally relevant, it has soul. The shelves and walls are full of the kind of gear that avid climbers, hikers, and backcountry skiers rely on. The staff are dedicated outdoorspeople. Some are mountain guides. The shop is a gathering place for the local outdoor community, and a place to seek advice on local trail conditions and equipment trends. In a current day rarity, there is an extensive book section, affording the opportunity to browse leisurely through titles both famous and eclectic. The entire scene is a powerful reminder of how much is lost in the on-line retail world.

I was in a good mood driving up to the shop. Entering added to it. Charlie gave me a tour of the place. I was struck by how much space is devoted to displaying a broad selection of technical gear; not only the fashionable “soft goods” which outdoor retailers rely on to shore up their profits. Here is a photo of Charlie in one of the many display rooms:

Shop tour from the owner

My book talk, held at the nearby Ausable Club, attracted a friendly audience in a beautiful setting. Driving to it, I looked up at a long line of Great Range summits bathed in early evening summer light and thought about how glad I was that, five years ago, I had been up there amid it all.

The following morning, I managed to sneak in a few things before leaving town. I woke early, downed a cup of coffee and some toast, and drove to the trailhead from where Thomas and I had launched our traverse. As the sun rose above the surrounding ridges, I ran and speed-hiked to the top of Rooster Comb, the first of the Great Range mountaintops. This was the section that, five years ago, we navigated in darkness, so it was fun to see it in daylight. Here is a photo of me on top:

Summit of Rooster Comb: August 20, 2026

Then I ran back down to the trailhead parking lot. Changing into dry clothes on pleasantly tired legs, I savored a feeling of accomplishment as light breeze dried the sweat on my body, rejoicing in having reconnected with a trail that has come to hold meaning for me. Before hitting the road, at Charlie’s request, I stopped by The Mountaineer to sign some books. It was fun, and I felt I had come full circle: from a child sitting on the floor of his father’s outdoor shop, reading climbing books and dreaming of faraway peaks, to an author standing in the book section of a contemporary version of that shop, signing a book he has written about climbing some of those peaks.

Here is a screenshot of a post that appeared shortly thereafter on the store’s Instagram page:

Signing copies in the book section

Driving home, I reflected on the fact that, six years ago when I embarked on my post-retirement “gap year,” I was reconnecting with activities that had, in the distant past of my youth, provided deep meaning. This week in the Great Range, I was reconnecting with a recent experience, pursued at the beginning of my sixties, that provided equally rich gratification. I am fortunate indeed. I also reflected on what a gift writing The Gap Years has been. I didn’t set out on my post-retirement adventures planning to write a book. Having done so, it has proven equal in meaning to the mountains I climbed.

Part of the book-writing experience is a series of author talks and presentations that I am currently in the middle of. Each one of them, like the talk I just gave in Keene Valley, is a wonderful intersection of neat venue, gracious hosts, thoughtful attendees, and a fun place to visit. I am enjoying all of the events, and am also gratified that associated book sales benefit the Himalayan Trust, which does important work on behalf of the Sherpa people of Nepal.

Speaking of book writing, I am pleased to report that The Gap Years has been well received and sales are strong. A second printing appears imminent. Heartfelt thanks for your support, which continues to mean the world.

And speaking of mountains, I am in the process of finalizing plans for what will likely be my final big mountain: an attempt on Gasherbrum 2 in Pakistan next summer. Details to follow as things firm up. Meanwhile, Happy Late Summer to all!