The White Mountains are a completely different animal than the Appalachian Mountains. Even so, as I hiked up Craggy Gardens off of the Blue Ridge Parkway just outside of Asheville, North Carolina a couple of days ago, I was forced to remember the first stretch of the Presidential Traverse in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The climb was gradual at first, but steady, with a low hanging forest and a stream running not far off the trail. Not 10 minutes in I was having thoughts akin to, “Oh my god, what did I sign up for?” and, “I’m not going to be able to do this for days; this is already too strenuous.” However, I swiftly learned that “hiking legs” are a real thing. Your body adjusts and soon enough one foot is stepping in front of the
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Madison would be like. We set out unable to see the summit, scrambling over rocks while cairn after cairn led us on. August didn’t prevent the need for us to don jackets and gloves as we got higher and higher and the wind grew steadier and more fierce. I became afraid to look at anything except what was directly in front of me. This was the first of many times that I was realizing what one wrong step could mean, which is such a part of the adventure of the White Mountains. Every day we are in situations that we don’t consciously and constantly perceive as life and death. When we are driving, or crossing a street, or even just entering a building. But the sense of life and death is real up there. There is nothing between you and one slip becoming your demise.
When we looked back on Madison the next day, the people climbing it could hardly be seen amongst the rocks and the incline was significantly more dramatic than it appeared when we were up close. “I’m glad I didn’t see it this way before we started,” I said. “I would have been too scared to climb.” The mood was light as we hiked on, realizing that the “trail” was not a trail but a sea of rocks (huge rocks) that we fondly named “the
Madison would be like. We set out unable to see the summit, scrambling over rocks while cairn after cairn led us on. August didn’t prevent the need for us to don jackets and gloves as we got higher and higher and the wind grew steadier and more fierce. I became afraid to look at anything except what was directly in front of me. This was the first of many times that I was realizing what one wrong step could mean, which is such a part of the adventure of the White Mountains. Every day we are in situations that we don’t consciously and constantly perceive as life and death. When we are driving, or crossing a street, or even just entering a building. But the sense of life and death is real up there. There is nothing between you and one slip becoming your demise.
When we looked back on Madison the next day, the people climbing it could hardly be seen amongst the rocks and the incline was significantly more dramatic than it appeared when we were up close. “I’m glad I didn’t see it this way before we started,” I said. “I would have been too scared to climb.” The mood was light as we hiked on, realizing that the “trail” was not a trail but a sea of rocks (huge rocks) that we fondly named “the