Amantio
New member
Little did I suppose, struggling through a light mist of rain to ascend the lofty 1,380 foot summit of Maine’s Mount Megunticook in the late spring of 2007, that in October of 2010 I would stand similarly upon the summit of Mount Carrigain, having topped all 48 of New Hampshire’s 4,000 foot peaks over the prior twenty-two months. All I knew then was that I should be in better shape, and that if my state of physical neglect continued into my 50’s, things would go from ugly to downright dreadful in short order. I also recognized that, despite the strain of the exertion, and the discomfort of the chilly rain that cold day in Camden, Maine, I was having a pretty good time.
Successively more challenging hikes followed, from Cadillac in Acadia, to Bear Mountain in Connecticut, to Monadnock in New Hampshire, to Greylock in Massachusetts. In early fall of 2008, Diane and I travelled to Stowe, Vermont and hiked up the Hell Brook Trail to the summit of Mansfield’s chin, our first 4,000 foot peak. Later in October of that year, we ventured up the Falling Waters Trail hoping to travel the Franconia Ridge. Atop Little Haystack we encountered howling winds, rime ice and blowing fog for which we were not prepared, having left mild temperatures, sunshine and idyllic conditions in the parking three hours before. We retreated rather than risk travel on the ridge, and decided that adult supervision might be in order should we dare to venture further in the mountains.
That “supervision” came in part from the wisdom and companionship gained from joining folks on VFTT and Rocks on Top, starting with a traverse in the Osippees with a group of sixteen or so, led by the plucky Rocket21. This was great fun, a great hike, and acquaintances were made that day which have since formed into friendships.
This introduction into group hiking somewhat emboldened me, and I next found myself on a foggy and wet winter day in December, trudging up the Hancocks in the freezing rain. My pack was too small, I was wearing the wrong boots, had the wrong pants on, and I was generally unprepared for the rigors of the steep descent in my recently acquired snowshoes. I made it back to the car, but there was very little left in the tank, and I was concerned with what might have been. These were my first New Hampshire 4,000 foot mountains.
Over the following twenty-two months, the rest followed. I gradually gained in knowledge and, I hope, wisdom. I certainly gained in equipment. When along the way I decided to try to do them all, I know not. That certainly wasn’t my initial intent. A long day doing the Twins, Galehead and Garfield with BIGEarl, followed shortly thereafter by an Owl’s Head adventure with LRiz probably helped solidify things in my mind. My first ascent up Washington with Kevin, Judy and Emma at Seek the Peak 2009, I’m sure, sealed the deal.
So last Sunday my wife and I spent a lovely day in the mountains. We left the trailhead and strolled a lovely broad trail, strewn with leaves of orange and gold, the warm sun on our backs. We crossed flooded streams and beaver dams, and ascended a rocky trail to the Signal Ridge, where we caught our first view of the summit fire tower. There we encountered temperatures in the thirties, snow and gusting winds. We dove back into the woods and then worked our way through the slush and dripping spruce to the final approach to the clearing. I must admit those final few steps were not without emotion as I toed the summit marker and claimed my forty-eighth and final White Mountain 4,000 foot peak.
We laughed as we ascended the fire tower, encrusted with feathered rime ice, snapped a quick picture, but took note of an ominous and threatening cloud lowering from the west, and retreated to the shelter of the woods. Three hours later, feet somewhat damp from high water, we emerged from those woods, marvelously fatigued and satisfied, and drove home to Massachusetts as if on a cloud.
Successively more challenging hikes followed, from Cadillac in Acadia, to Bear Mountain in Connecticut, to Monadnock in New Hampshire, to Greylock in Massachusetts. In early fall of 2008, Diane and I travelled to Stowe, Vermont and hiked up the Hell Brook Trail to the summit of Mansfield’s chin, our first 4,000 foot peak. Later in October of that year, we ventured up the Falling Waters Trail hoping to travel the Franconia Ridge. Atop Little Haystack we encountered howling winds, rime ice and blowing fog for which we were not prepared, having left mild temperatures, sunshine and idyllic conditions in the parking three hours before. We retreated rather than risk travel on the ridge, and decided that adult supervision might be in order should we dare to venture further in the mountains.
That “supervision” came in part from the wisdom and companionship gained from joining folks on VFTT and Rocks on Top, starting with a traverse in the Osippees with a group of sixteen or so, led by the plucky Rocket21. This was great fun, a great hike, and acquaintances were made that day which have since formed into friendships.
This introduction into group hiking somewhat emboldened me, and I next found myself on a foggy and wet winter day in December, trudging up the Hancocks in the freezing rain. My pack was too small, I was wearing the wrong boots, had the wrong pants on, and I was generally unprepared for the rigors of the steep descent in my recently acquired snowshoes. I made it back to the car, but there was very little left in the tank, and I was concerned with what might have been. These were my first New Hampshire 4,000 foot mountains.
Over the following twenty-two months, the rest followed. I gradually gained in knowledge and, I hope, wisdom. I certainly gained in equipment. When along the way I decided to try to do them all, I know not. That certainly wasn’t my initial intent. A long day doing the Twins, Galehead and Garfield with BIGEarl, followed shortly thereafter by an Owl’s Head adventure with LRiz probably helped solidify things in my mind. My first ascent up Washington with Kevin, Judy and Emma at Seek the Peak 2009, I’m sure, sealed the deal.
So last Sunday my wife and I spent a lovely day in the mountains. We left the trailhead and strolled a lovely broad trail, strewn with leaves of orange and gold, the warm sun on our backs. We crossed flooded streams and beaver dams, and ascended a rocky trail to the Signal Ridge, where we caught our first view of the summit fire tower. There we encountered temperatures in the thirties, snow and gusting winds. We dove back into the woods and then worked our way through the slush and dripping spruce to the final approach to the clearing. I must admit those final few steps were not without emotion as I toed the summit marker and claimed my forty-eighth and final White Mountain 4,000 foot peak.
We laughed as we ascended the fire tower, encrusted with feathered rime ice, snapped a quick picture, but took note of an ominous and threatening cloud lowering from the west, and retreated to the shelter of the woods. Three hours later, feet somewhat damp from high water, we emerged from those woods, marvelously fatigued and satisfied, and drove home to Massachusetts as if on a cloud.
