On Saturday I went hiking in the White Mountains and it was quite an experience. I went with Abi who is from the Philippines. She's getting training at my office for a few months and, as we are the only female's under 50 in our group, we've been doing a few things together. Being women of extreme forethought and planning we googled trails the day before but, alas, the mental strain of a decision was too much. We printed out the trail descriptions page to feast our eyes upon in the car.
The morning got off the a good start always excepting the part where I was the recipient of a phone call during the long and arduous walk to the car, my arms full of winter supplies. We decided on a seemly short and friendly trail called the "falling water trail". Among its manifold of attractions were numbered 3 waterfalls, 3 miles and a 3 hours round trip. Abi and I found this all very agreeable and the rest of the drive was spent admiring the brilliant fall colors of I-93.
The benevolent creators of I-93 placed a multitude of exits without numbers between the exits with numbers. This infused and small element of confusion into our morning ride as we struggled to figure out which exit between 34a and 34b we were looking for. Fortunately we were able to find our way to, and park at, the trail-head. The mountains, dark and menacing, loomed behind the brightly colored trees.
Being from the tropics Abi was not the proud owner of any winter clothing and I gallantly stepped into the breach, lending her my ski jacket, a scarf, and gloves. I wore my red peacoat and was likely judged by every hiker we encounters as they hurried past in their non pea coats acquired from high-end retailers specializing in clothing not meant for urban socialites.
We hiked along steadily through scenic autumn forest along the side of a lovely stream.
Eventually we reached this waterfall:
Our conviction that, here at last was a true waterfall, did nothing to alleviate our confusion. Was this number one two or three? Seeing this master waterfall, could any of the others truly be compared? Were there two more even larger ones? Burning with curiosity we persevered along the trail.
About this time the trail began to alter its face. Up until now we had been traveling through a multi colored (but predominately orange) forest along the side of a picturesque stream. The changes engulfed us slowly, but soon the trees we passed had lost their diversity of color and were simply evergreens. Even more alarming, our trail and the stream ended their long standing relationship and parted ways. For a time we believed the breakup to be temporary. Perhaps they simply needed some space and would renew their passion in a matter of meters. We listened for the sound of some spectacular waterfall which would signal the joyful renewal of their connection. Alas, all that could be heard was the wind in the manifold evergreens encompassing us.
During this period we came upon two fellow wanders in this wilderness. A youthful couple, the male carrying a large pack, passed us. Now we had seen a number of our fellow man as we sojourned but all had been either possessed greater speed than our meager legs could afford us or were of the leisurely persuasion and were soon out of sight. This couple, however, was struggling under an unequal yoke, for the boyfriend had the attitude toward the hike which the lower classes might refer to as "gun-ho", while his partner labored forward under the weight of many complaints. Their pace (as with pretty much everyone who had made it thus far) was faster than ours, but they often took long rests for the sake of the female of the species. During these rests we would catch up and once again share the lonely trail will these companions.
After the span of about two hours of total hiking had elapsed we saw an older hiking heading downwards. His face betrayed friendliness and experience; we risked soliciting his opinion on the distance remaining. He pulled out what, I am informed by my almost-eagle-scout brother, was a hiking watch and gave me the distance in yards. Now I don't know about all you super experienced hikers, but one of the little known facts about myself that I have never found myself using in those awkward get to know each other ice-breakers is the number of yards per hour I hike. He seemed to notice my blank look because he assured me it would be another half hour. He paused and looked at us again. Likely taking in the red peacoat and added "a good half hour". We thanked him and decided to continue on as it would be a shame to turn back only half an hour from the end. The couple also seemed to take heart at these tidings of great joy.
The next twenty minutes elapsed in much the same fashion and our hopes began to rise that we might be drawing near the summit. The boyfriend informed me that he had a strong feeling that we were almost there. I privately felt that anyone in possession of a hikometer was likely hiking much faster despite his apparently advanced age. About twenty minutes subsequent to our encounter with the elderly hiker we met two more hikers coming down. When questioned about the distance to the top they respond with "forty-five minutes".
"I can't keep on doing this for forty-five minutes." Cried the girlfriend in tones which bespoke despair.
"Yes you can, babe." Put in her significant other, helpfully.
"You should just go on without me. I'll follow at my own pace." Was her passionate appeal.
The lover was wise enough not to take her at her word and attempted to encourage her with the offer of a banana. She accepted in an aggravated tone and insisted on getting it out herself. Subsequent to the disappearance of the banana they set out again, though not quite, wing to wing and oar to oar.
Several minutes later she stopped again, breathing heavily, and repeated her appeal for him to leave her to the mountain lions. They decided to take a "long rest" by the roadside. We were never to see them again.
At this point the trail began to remind me of a quote from the Horse and his Boy:
Unfortunately we didn't get to meet Aslan at the top. The snow, actually, it was more like hail, became more pronounced at this stage and the snow covered trees reminded me again of Narnia. It became apparent, even to my darkened mind, that there would be no more waterfalls and that we were now climbing a real live mountain.
More and more downward headed hikers passed us, openly lamenting the cold and searing winds awaiting us at the summit, each with a different time estimate. Abi and I made a brief stop to gladden our hearts with the sustaining power of a sandwich, but rose again to make the final effort. The last bit was the steepest and the iciest, but with our unconquerable souls we persevered to the end.
I would say the summit looked like a winter wonderland but I feel that winter wonderlands have gentle breezes, just cold enough not to melt the snow. What we faced on the summit was shrieking winds which tore through our clothing and demanded an interest free loan of all the warmth in our bodies. I would probably classify it as a winter wasteland.
I mean, does this look like healthy well-adjusted snow to you? It's so wind-blown that it is sticking straight out.
In order to avoid unpleasant consequences including, but not limited to, hypothermia, frost bite, and death by cold wind, we took some quick pictures and hurried down the mountainside. Now most people we saw descending had these special chains which attached to their shoes. Being bereft of such advanced equipment we utilized more old fashioned methods such as, slipping, sliding, and a lot of tree hugging. My level of environmentalism has greatly increased since the embracing of topiary saved me more than once from an emergency helicopter ride.
A little way down we came to a sign informing us that "shining rock" was only 0.1 miles away. Considering that we had been unable to see more than a few yards on the summit we decided to risk life and limb in the hope that the shining rock would furnish us with better views. I would say we made the right choice.
We decided to nourish ourselves with sandwich number two while perched on the shining rock. While we were eating Abi revealed that her husband had been concerned about her hiking and she had assured him that it was a family-friendly hike.... It is probably best for his mental health that he not see the winter wasteland.
The rest of the descent was mostly uneventful; we spewed the same probably-untrue estimates of time to the top, and definitely-true tales of the extreme cold which lurked there to credulous hikers following in our footsteps.
We emerged from the trees seven hours later. I have not been this excited to see a parking lot for a long time.
When we returned to the car and I reread the trail description.
"This trip goes only as far as the ledges, hanging on the edge of the deep ravine of Walker Brook. Going any further is for experts only. "
I supposed I should learn to read entire descriptions (just imagine what my GPA could have been had I always read the test questions). However it was heartening to hear that we survived a climb for "experts only". I looked it up afterwards and the mountain we climbed was called Little Haystack and it is 4700 ft. Alas, it does not count as one of New Hampshire's 48 four-thousand footers because it is too close to mt. Lincoln.
