“A few weeks back a couple of my regulars at the place I bartend at started talking about an epic adventure they had started last summer: highpointing. They talked about traveling all over the East Coast and how they were gearing up for even bigger trips this summer. Neither of them grew up camping or doing too much of anything outdoorsy so they began pumping me for my knowledge. You see, my parents growing up took us camping all the time! We spent weeks at a time in the woods so I feel like in some ways I grew up in tents, cooking over open fires and digging holes to get to the bathroom. As I imparted what I knew to these guys they looked wildly overwhelmed.

A few nights later they came back to my bar and made a proposition: since I loved adventure so much, why not join them on some of the hikes that would require overnights. I told them I’d think about it and went about my life. One of my closest friends worked with me and asked me later that week if I was going to do it. She said it would be so cool to combine their adventure with my photography, and so the idea of a highpoints coffee table book was born. But life went on and I didn’t think too much of it after that.

Then everything changed. I was at work when my mom called to tell me Gramps was in the hospital. The ICU to be exact. He had perforated his abdomen and was bleeding internally. He had been given four blood transfusions and was stable, but still not in the clear. I asked my mom when she was headed up and she told me there was no way she could drop everything and go. So I did. I walked back into my job, told my boss I was leaving, and bought a plane ticket to Newark, New Jersey.

Within five hours I was walking into St Barnabus in Livingston, NJ. Luckily, by the time I got there, Gramps had been moved into a regular room so I was able to walk right in. He seemed to be in good spirits but a little confused. He kept asking about my sisters and calling me by my mom’s name. I let it slide, he did just go through a traumatic event. Eventually, we established that I was Rene, his granddaughter, not his daughter and he started inquiring about the goings-on of my life. I told him I was working for an underwater lighting company during the day and as a bartender at night. I had just designed my first nationally distributed magazine ad campaign and I was working part-time as a photographer… mostly for the love of it since I wasn’t actually making any money in the field. He talked for a long time about his experience as a photographer. He asked me if I remembered working with him in the darkroom at his house. “”Of course I do Gramps, that’s how I first learned to develop film and photos!”” I exclaimed. He beamed with pride. Eventually, I brought up the idea about highpointing and self-publishing a book and he didn’t skip a beat: “”Rene, you have to do it. Do you know why I am ok with dying? Because I have done everything I wanted to. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t always smart. But I did it. I made it happen. You have to do it!””

Something in the pit of my stomach tightened up a little bit at that moment. It was a mix of excitement and fear because there was this knowing feeling that now, I had to do it. But how? What about the money? And can I even climb a mountain? What if my photos are terrible? But his words stuck in my head, “”Rene, you have to do it.””

Two days and several not-so-wonderful-yet-wildly-expensive hospital meals later, Gramps convinced his doctor that I was his nurse and that I could be trusted to take him home. His doctor came in and started sputtering out all kinds of jibber-jabber that I did not comprehend and then shook my hand and said good luck. And we were off. The next morning I woke to the sound of the ride-on motor circling the field in the back of Gramps’ house. I peered out the window and there he was, straight out of the hospital, mowing the yard. Next was fixing the door hinge on the workshop. Then of course the brick pathway down to the koi pond needed to be power washed. By 5 o’clock I was exhausted chasing around after him. As I plopped down on the sofa Gramps shoved a very tequila-heavy margarita in my face. So this was a thing. I sipped my margarita as I checked the list of foods he couldn’t have from the hospital and figured out something to cook for dinner. By 9 pm I was wiped out and climbed into my bed in the library.

The next morning I heard Gramps come down the stairs. He went into his office, cussed at his computer for a bit, and then printed something. I wandered into the kitchen as he was stuffing his camera into his camera bag. He looked over at me and said, you ready?

Ready for what? He waved a map he had printed out around in the air and told me to hurry up and get dressed and grab my camera. How could I say no to that? It wasn’t until I was getting into the driver’s seat of his Mustang that I realized where we were going. The map he printed had directions drawn on it. Head down the driveway, make a right on Prospect (NJ 23), drive nearly 2 hours and the destination is on the right: High Point State Park. The highest point in New Jersey. (Gramps is nothing if not persistent.) So I drove, and that is how I came to do my very first state highpoint with my Gramps. Two days out of the hospital. Classic Gramps.