A Promise to Mom: My Aspiring 46er Story

On July 13, 2017 at approximately 2am I received a phone call that would change my life forever - my mother was in cardiac arrest and they were performing CPR to try and save her life. As a Paramedic, I was instantly aware that this would almost certainly result in her death, and I would never see her alive again. Healthy patients rarely recover from cardiac arrest, and unfortunately my mom was not very healthy.

Mom had been admitted to the hospital with complications surrounding her stage four metastatic bladder cancer, and while we suspected that she may have only a handful of months left to live, nothing had indicated that my visit a few hours earlier would be my final chance to say goodbye. The hours that followed that phone call seemed to drag on forever as I drove my sister Destinee to the hospital, where we were informed that the woman who had raised us was no longer alive at the young age of 57. In an instant our world was turned upside down, and our lives would never be the same. 

It was the kind of order that you find annoying in the moment, but you can’t say no to, so you listen anyway. I gave my mom a forced kiss on the cheek and hugged her goodbye for what would turn out to be the final time. I don’t know that I’ve ever told her this, but I’m so thankful that my Aunt Bev pushed me to say a better goodbye to my mother that evening. I’ve often wondered if she sensed something that I didn’t at that moment, or if she was just doing what aunts do. 

In the days and weeks following my mom’s passing, I completely forgot about the Adirondacks. Life had changed rapidly, and my priorities shifted to funeral planning, cleaning out her apartment, and just trying to make it through the day. About a month after the funeral I was cleaning out my car when I found a small orange book in my glove compartment: The High Peaks Summit Journal. I thumbed through the pages, remembering my Indian Head hike and the stunning natural beauty I had witnessed. I also remembered how my mom had taken me on small hikes at local parks as a boy, and how much she loved being among nature. Despite having never climbed a mountain or even researched the difficulty of doing so, sitting in my car at that moment, I made a promise to myself that I would climb all 46 high peaks in honor of my mother. I pulled out a pen, and wrote the following words on the inside cover of the journal: “These hikes will be completed in honor of my mother, Terry Koegl, who passed away shortly after I purchased this book but before I hiked my first high peak. I will carry her with me on the mountains and take her places that she never made it.”



I hiked my first high peak in February of 2018 when I made a winter ascent of Cascade with my good friend Ryan and his dog Fenway (@fen_the_aussie on IG). Admittedly, we were completely unprepared and had no idea what we were getting into. We wore heavy winter jackets, didn’t have snowshoes, and orphaned Porter despite being only about half a mile from the summit. We achieved our goal of reaching the summit of Cascade, however, and we made it back to the car safely. We had a great time doing it, and I had officially started my journey as an aspiring 46er.



That initial hike was over 5 years ago now, and at the time of writing this I’ve climbed 25/46 high peaks. Some of the mountains have come easier than others, and I’ve orphaned more than I care to admit. The mountains have made me many friends, and helped me to bond with the woman who eventually became my wife. My fitness has vastly improved and I’m a healthier, happier person as a result of the promise that I made to myself in honor of my mother. I still have a long way to go to become a 46er, but I’m excited to see the ways in which the remaining hikes continue to change my life for the better.

This blog post and my entire 46er journey is dedicated to my mother, Terry D. Koegl, who instilled a love for nature in me at a young age. I know that she’d have loved every moment of chasing the high peaks just the way I am, and I’m proud to be hiking in her memory.