Nothing up my sleeve...

Things aren’t always what they seem.

Cooking for people, feeding them, is often an expression of love while random, out of control eating can signal boredom or angst. Ten year old boys might signal their “appreciation” for a member of the opposite gender by pulling her pig-tails or shooting spit balls. Poison dart frogs have appealing brilliant colors that ultimately signal their toxicity. One might shop or clean or exercise when frustrated, a way to blow off steam. All of these things have a dual personality - appearing to be one thing, one way but also encompassing another.

Climbing Mt. Washington (“Home of the World’s Weather”) isn’t just about climbing Mt. Washington. For Ron and I it’s an opportunity to get to know one another again after spending a majority of the last 15-months living on opposite coasts, several time zones apart. It’s time spent doing something we both enjoy, together. It’s an exercise in trust. These climbs are away to dig ourselves out of a rut, a 15-year rut. It’s pushing us out of our comfort zones and forcing us to explore our drives and desires as well as explore other possibilities, for us personally, as a family, and for our hiking and climbing.

We’ve now spent many years together, growing apart. We’ve developed different interests, read different books, participated in different hobbies, and acquired many different friends. As of the end of 2008, we spent a majority of time living on in different time zones – and time zones are a relationships worst enemy. That 11:30 pm call (when it's only 8:30 pm on the other end of the phone) is so much more than just a call. It is the companionship and the connectedness. It is the meat and bones of a relationship with the absence of warmth, smiles, smells, touches and all the wonders of non-verbal communication. But is so important too.

It’s time for a change; a change of scenery and a change of attitude.

These 12 months of climbing - really, it's therapy but cooler.

One Week Ago

One week ago we did our first winter hike on Mt. Washington. We opted for the Lion's Head Trail (winter route) as Ron suggested this would afford the easiest winter ascent combined with spectacular views and a "touch of weather." I don't know if this is correct but I trust Ron.

Speaking of trust, I think in our situation copious amounts of trust are necessary for these climbs to work. Ron is an extremely experienced mountaineer/climber/hiker - mountain man - as some of my friends refer to him. He's also very practical and conservative in his choices in "the back country." This is one of the biggest reasons why I trust him. He has walked away from summits, even when in very close proximity, because something made him uncomfortable: a cloud formation, the time of day, a twitch in his eye - whatever. The point is, he will walk away. Being an absolute novice, I appreciate this.

After checking and rechecking our clothing, gear and food supplies, we left home about an hour later than we wanted to, for four hour drive to "the Home of the World's Worst Weather." My partner of seventeen years knows me well and let me sleep while he did the bulk of the driving. We arrived, parked and looked at each other. The looks that passed between us were a conversation of their own:

"We can still turn back."

"There are some neat looking stores in North Conway."

"Driving, taking in the scenery, having lunch - could be a nice way to fulfill the day."

"But we came so far for this."

"Wouldn't it be schmucky of us to not at least try?"

"We don't have to summit."

"We can just walk in the forests and enjoy the scenery."

"The pictures alone would be worth it."

"Well, let's give it a short go."

"Yeah, ok. We can picnic on a snow covered rock or something."

We gathered our gear and went to get organized and dressed, to get ourselves checked in and ready to take our walk. It was then that we realized we were missing two key pieces of clothing and that this alone was going to prevent us from reaching the summit. Somehow, my wind pants, thin gore-tex pants worn over my warm fleece pants to prevent the bitter winter wind from chilling my lovely legs, did not make it into my bag. And Ron's balaclava face mask did not make it into his. This, combined with our 10 a.m. arrival to the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, immediately set the tone for the hike. We would go up, touch the weather and turn back without attempting to summit. We were both good with this.

Starting at Pinkham Notch visitor's area, we ascended via the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. This was a slow, maybe 2-hour leg. The trail was very wide with plenty of room for the hikers happily descending and others who were headed up much faster than we were. There were skiers in groups and hikers with dogs. It was all good. Most appeared to be heading for a different trail than we were, because at some point I noticed we were completely alone as a light snow fell. The funniest part of our ascent was when I stepped slightly off trail to allow passage to some skiers and fell into the unpacked snow up to my hips! Ooops!

Two hours up and we turned off the large packed-snow main trail onto a smaller trail in the woods. It was nice. Reminded me of the Frost line "the woods are lovely, dark and deep..." This trail quickly became deep and steep. We stopped to put on our crampons. I'm thankful that Ron was able to help me secure mine. The crampons were wonderfully helpful for maintaining traction and footing in the snow and the ice that was beginning to appear. We needed our ice axes too, to help brace ourselves and push up the hill. This was new to me, I felt a bit idiotic and a bit scared.

Then we reached a point on the trail where the trees suddenly stopped and in front of us was an ice covered rock wall with narrow and very very vertical trail UP. Way up. It looked about 500 feet to me. As we stood there looking at it, considering it, Ron said it was maybe 20 or 30 feet. I trust him. I do. Really. As we stood there looking at this narrow, ice covered and very vertical trail, Ron mentioned that we were close to the end of where our gear, minus the forgotten bits, would take us. Quick up, touch the weather and quick down - we would be on our way back to Pinkham Notch. My trust, momentarily, waned.

Suddenly two young men, led by an experienced guide, were climbing down the icy ravine. The guide instructed them in minute detail, exactly where to place their feet, their hands and when to stretch just a little further. It took them 20 minutes or so to climb down the last 10(ish) feet as we watched. They were clearly relieved when they reached us. Again, I could feel my trust waning.

We discussed it. The ascent, harrowing as it might be for me, really would be the easy part. It was the very necessary descent that was giving me the most pause. Ron had brought a rope and harness with him, for me, in case he/we felt it would be best to tie me in. You can ask him about those details. I don't know. I trust him.

In the end, we decided this was the point on this hike, to turn back. Ron was perfectly fine with this and my trust renewed. All the way back to the the visitor center, filled with the energy that relief brings, we discussed/planned our next ascent and how we will handle this section. We will make a list and check it twice. We will get an earlier start. We might even drive up the night before and stay in a motel. Ron will tie me in and I will rappel to descent -- with this I am very comfortable.

So stay tuned because February is fast approaching!

(And next climb, we will take pictures.)