From the defunct ski resort near Beaver you can hike Mount Holly "easily". So we pulled the kids away from the canoes and running wild, to hike. I thought the possibility of summiting an 11,999 foot mountain would be enough, but it took some serious cheerleading to get the crew up the mountain.
In the end, I was slightly bummed that we missed the peak I was hoping for. There aren't trails, so we ended up on the South Ridge which has a tiny rock fort and one of those celebratory rock piles, but no elevation sign. Just imagine the fam huddled around a sign. No one else seemed to care though. They all cheered up about 20 minutes from the top and stayed that way for the rest of the trip. Maybe it was the thin air.
Jonas: the rock-climbing mountain goat.
Macie: happy and cold.
Daryl: pointing out "the sandy shores of Puffer Lake." Thanks to the old Club Holly ads for all the laughs.
Forget the view, how about that fort!
The tired family sherpa. He carried Jonas a lot.
And finally, the kid caught some fish. Here he is about to eat a chunk of one.
He didn't want to eat them, but I said, "You can't fish if you don't eat your catch." So we grilled the two German Brown (the Rainbow Trout fell out of the bag and floated down stream). And guess what? He loved it, and would barely share a bite.