“I swear, this hike felt a lot easier when I was 15,” I said to my kids, huffing as we hauled up what seemed like the endlessly steep mountain.

I had promised an “easy, fun, not that long” hike. I was right that it wasn’t that long. What I had forgotten was that it was nearly straight up, complete with patches of steep, smooth rock. It had rained the night before, making everything slippery as hell.

The first part of the hike went pretty well, after some initial grousing about walking up a couple flights of stairs to get to a pedestrian walkway over the highway. It was steep, but manageable. I felt peaceful and at home hiking in a place that was such a big part of my childhood. Mimicking the dad in Calvin and Hobbes (which he is super into right now), my older son joked that the experience “built character.” My younger son commented that you “need at least a gallon of character” and hiking only provided a quarter gallon.

But then it just kept going up. And up. And up. Somehow, we ended up on a different trail that was supposedly less steep but also longer. With that, a 1.5 mile hike turned into a hike of indeterminate length when it felt like every tenth of a mile was an accomplishment. I kept looking at the topographic map on my phone, hoping somehow that we passed more lines on it than we had.

Our pace slowed and slowed and slowed. The kids insisted on stopping every few minutes. Legs were itchy and tired to the point of not being able to cope. It was way past lunchtime and I only had granola bars and water. (We did have a very big, late breakfast, but still.) Both kids slipped on rocks and had minor but painful-in-the-moment injuries. It seemed like a hiking mutiny was imminent, with the kids sitting on a log and refusing to move.

Just as all hope seemed lost, my older son said, “Hey, I found a lizard. Come look at it!” While I was hesitant to back track for anything, I shlepped back there. At least that little part was relatively flat.

Then I saw what he was pointing to – a beautiful orange spotted creature. My husband exclaimed, “Oh, that’s not a lizard, it’s a newt!” With some quick Googling (we were high enough to that we had surprisingly good cell coverage), I discovered it was a juvenile Eastern (Red-Spotted) Newt, a type of salamander.

Always up for an opportunity to share fun facts, I added in, “They’re amphibians! They’re born in water and then move onto land.” My kids watched it walk through the leaves, its body wiggling along on tiny legs.

As we continued to walk, we started seeing them everywhere! The rain must have drawn them out from under their rocks, leaves, and other hiding spots. At one point, I said, “There’s one. And another. And another. And another!” with four right in my line of sight. It was like a scavenger hunt to find these adorable bright orange amphibians.

Suddenly, the hike seemed possible again. Parts were still steep and we had a little further to go, but we could do it. After a few more rises, we reached the summit, complete with an expansive view of Lake George and the surrounding landscape.

Now, not everything was peachy keen. Once we got to the top of the mountain, we sent my husband back down by himself to get the car. (Yes, we hiked this ridiculous path even though you can drive to the top.) Scrambling down, he also fell and smashed his shoulder into a rock.

Meanwhile, after the kids and I were done admiring the view, I was dealing with a child who was hungry but didn’t like any of the granola bars I had and arguments over whose turn it was to play Mario Run on my phone. I longingly watched happy families pose for photos at the top and then walk back to their vehicles.

But eventually, my husband rescued us, we got dinner, and everything was fine.

I’m sure this will turn into a future family story, as all of mine and my husband’s previous Adirondack misadventures have. While I think it did “build character” in my kids, as Calvin’s dad insists their miserable camping trips do, it’s not the suffering itself that did it. Rather, it’s the finding something of beauty and meaning despite the suffering that did. That day, my older son’s keen eye for small, adorable creatures provided that little spark. That’s the part I hope they remember the most.