The Wedge and a family legacy

In the granite spires of southern New Mexico’s Organ Mountains, a narrow blade of rock cuts into the desert sky. Climbers know it as the Wedge. It is a steep, exposed fin that offers little margin for error and no shortage of perspective.

In August 1950, 18-year-old Howard McCord of El Paso took a break from his studies and set out for the Organs with friends Dan Vickers and David Burwell. There were no guidebooks for the Wedge, no bolted lines, no carefully documented routes, and that was precisely what enticed McCord and his companions.

The trio scrambled up the exposed spine, trusting their instincts and confident the summit would justify the effort.

When they reached the top, they found something wholly unexpected: a rusted Prince Albert tobacco tin tucked among the rocks. Inside was a note dated May 17, 1934, signed by Steven H. Christensen, the first documented climber of the Wedge. The note promised a $5 fountain pen to the next person daring enough to make the climb who could return it to Christensen within 10 years.

That small, weathered can connected two generations, though McCord acknowledged they were six years too late to claim the prize.

Life carried McCord far beyond southern New Mexico in the decades that followed. He built a career, raised a family, and traveled widely. But the Wedge remained fixed in his memory, a difficult challenge met while in his youth.

Fifty years after that first ascent, on June 15, 2000, McCord returned.

This time, he did not climb with teenage friends but with a small, multigenerational party that included close companions Dan and Peter McLachlan and John Haynes, along with three of his children — Susannah, Eva, and Asher. The climb was deeply personal: a father revisiting a formative place and bringing his family and friends to experience one of his most cherished memories and, as he wrote, “the pleasure of riding high on the edge of the world.”

The granite had not softened. The exposure was the same. But the meaning had shifted. What had once been a test of skill and courage became an act of remembrance.

On the summit, the group placed its own time capsule — typed pages recounting the 1950 climb, the discovery of Christensen’s note, and the significance of returning half a century later. It was a deliberate gesture toward the future, an invitation for some future climber to rediscover the thread.

In 2023, Mike Hoskins reached the summit and discovered the container.

“When I opened it, it just had these three articles, including one that Howard McCord had written in 1980 after he went back,” Hoskins said. “Most peaks have what’s called a summit register — usually a little notebook where people write their name, the date, maybe ‘it was cold today’ or ‘it was windy.’ This was different. Somebody had put some effort into trying to tell a story.”

Curious about the names inside, Hoskins attempted to contact Howard McCord through social media but received no response. Instead, he connected with Asher McCord, who was, in that moment, traveling to see his father, who was in hospice care.

Hoskins, who has a deep affection for the Organ Mountains, said climbing is often about discovery — about small surprises along the way.

“They thought they were the first ones to do it, and they were surprised when they got up there and found a canister of notes from somebody who’d done it in 1934,” Hoskins said of McCord’s original ascent. “It feels like you’re the first — like you’re an explorer. That’s kind of how the Organ Mountains even feel today. There’s not a lot of trails, and everything feels like you’re doing it for the first time. But then there’ll be little hints that somebody’s been there before.”

Hoskins likens climbing the Wedge to solving a puzzle. “Everyone wants the Needle,” he said, referencing another iconic Organ peak, “but the Wedge is right there in the middle and kind of majestic. It has this long face that gets exposed by the sun. It’s just a really interesting peak.”

Asher carried the news that the time capsule had been found and that the story from 1950 and 2000 had resurfaced on the mountain. He shared it with his father. The discovery brought a smile to Howard McCord’s face. A short time later, he died.

For Asher, the timing felt almost like a final acknowledgment, as if the mountain had offered one last gift before his father moved on.

Two years later, the gift just kept on giving and a new chapter was added to the story.

On Nov. 2, 2025, 75 years after Howard’s first ascent and 25 years after the capsule was placed, Asher returned to the Wedge. With him were Mike Hoskins and Arnaldo Pabon, a fellow climber and friend.

The climb was no longer about testing limits or marking anniversaries. It was about honoring a father.

The approach wound through familiar terrain, the Organs rising in fractured granite tiers above them. The Wedge had not changed. It still presented the same challenge that had confronted Howard in 1950 and again in 2000.

Near the final pitch, where the crest narrows and the void opens on either side, a large eagle appeared overhead, seeming to welcome them. It circled above the formation before gliding across the range. For the three climbers, the moment felt charged and filled with symbolism.

Seventy-five years earlier, Howard had stood there as an 18-year-old, just beginning a life filled with opportunity and possibilities. Fifty years later, he stood there again as a father, bridging the generations and passing on the legacy. Now it was Asher’s turn to complete the arc.

He carried a small portion of his father’s ashes. In quiet acknowledgment of the bond they shared, and the mountain that had shaped it, he sprinkled them on the summit.

The Wedge has seen many climbers since Christensen left his note in 1934. But this story traces a rare generational circle: in 1950, Howard McCord climbed to see if it could be done; in 2000, he returned to share it with those he loved; and in 2025, his son climbed to say goodbye and thank you.

During the 2025 ascent, Hoskins learned another reason this climb held such significance for Asher.

“For him, it was a redemption climb as well,” Hoskins said. “He didn’t actually make it to the top the first time. Now he wanted to prove that he could do it.”

When Asher finally stepped onto the summit, the moment extended beyond remembrance.

“He called his family and FaceTimed his wife and kids,” Hoskins said. “I walked away to give him some space, but I could hear how excited he was, telling them, ‘I did it. I finally did it. We did this for grandpa.’ That part was pretty awesome.”

High on the narrow crest of the Wedge, riding the edge of the world as his father once described it, Asher stood where Howard had stood before him and felt the continuity beneath his feet.

In that place of shared effort and memory, the story endures.