Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

Weekend on the Black Crest Trail

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Our Mud Run team did not make the run this last April, so our fearfulless leader took us on the trail of our lives. The experience was unmatched and is nearly indescribable. Pictures will be posted later.

No map captures what this trail delivers. It is "black-diamond" expert level that most people do in descending fashion. We climbed. And climbed. And climbed. And experienced everything a human being could possibly experience--it was a ride, inside and out.

We summited 9 peaks in two days: Celo Knob, Gibbs Mountain, Winter Star Mountain, down into Deep Gap, up Potato Hill, Cattail Peak, Balsam Cone, Big Tom, Mt. Craig, then finally ending at Mt. Mitchell, the highest peak on the Eastern Seaboard. Here's a snapshot of maps with elevation details. With calories burned. I am in deep recovery mode right now.

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