Trailside Zoo and Museums in Bear Mountain State Park
Updated: Jun 27
Real Places Behind THE QUEST OF KIP SAUNDERS
When I reached the top of Bear Mountain and looked down at the Hudson River Valley, I felt as if I had stepped back in time. I knew the Hudson River at the Bear Mountain Bridge crossing marked the lowest elevation point on the Appalachian Trail, but for me it represented a possible high point—at least emotionally.
I quickened my pace as I hiked down the mountain, excited by the possibilities that lay before me and the decision I would soon have to make when I reached the bridge. The Appalachian Trail merged with another path, the same route used for a West Point cross-country intrasquad competition in which I had participated back in 1981 while running for the G-1 Gophers.
At the time, I had been competing in military triathlons with the Academy's triathlon club. When the captain of the G-1 cross-country squad approached me, he asked if I would run just this one race to improve the Gophers' chances of winning the Corps competition. I don't remember whether we won, but I do remember the exhilaration of racing down Bear Mountain.
Twenty-five years later, I found myself hiking the same terrain and remembering. I walked past a lake and then, to my surprise, entered a zoo. I had to look twice to ensure I was still on the trail. I was.
Cross Country Course on the AT, 2006 Lake in Bear Mountain State Park, 2006
A statue of Walt Whitman stands at the entrance. Readers of THE QUEST OF KIP SAUNDERS will recognize the poem inscribed on the plaque beneath the larger-than-life bronze figure of the famous American poet. It contains lines from Song of the Open Road.
As I read the verse, I felt validated. I had taken a risk by quitting my job and passing up professional opportunities to spend five months hiking the Appalachian Trail. I hoped the journey would give me the opportunity not only to explore nature and the outer world but also to look deeper within myself—to discover who I truly was and to change what needed changing.
I continued along the paved pathway through the zoo and paused beside a black bear enclosed within one of the exhibits. Two female zookeepers recognized me as a hiker. How could they not? My clothes were unwashed, my backpack bulged with supplies, and I undoubtedly carried the unmistakable odor of someone who hadn't showered in days.
Walt Whitman at Entrance to Zoo, 2006 Zoo Keepers on Either Side of Me, 2006
"Are you hiking the AT?" one of them asked.
"Yes, I am," I replied. I straightened a little and felt taller as they looked at me.
"Where are you headed?"
I gave the answer many thru-hikers often share.
"Maine or bust."
"Oh! So you're hiking the whole thing?"
I nodded.
The three of us talked for a while. They took turns telling me about the history of the zoo. I found it meaningful that all the animals had either been injured or orphaned in the wild and could no longer survive in their native habitats. The place was less a zoo and more a sanctuary for the downtrodden.
Eventually, I told them I needed to continue on my way and pointed toward the gate ahead.
"Is Highway 6 and the Bear Mountain Bridge on the other side?" I asked.
"Sure enough," one of them said.
They walked with me to the exit. Before saying goodbye, I took a photograph of my new friends.
Passing through the gate, I found myself on Highway 6, with cars streaming toward the Bear Mountain Bridge to my right. I thought again of Whitman's words:
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
It was time to make a decision. Do I continue hiking the Appalachian Trail and cross the bridge now? Or do I go off-trail, veer left, and hitchhike to West Point, intending to return to the trail afterward?
It was my Robert Frost moment.
I went off trail.
And that decision, dear reader, led to the story that became THE QUEST OF KIP SAUNDERS.
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