You guide my pen, my thoughts, and my heart. You offer a flow of ease, peace, and satisfaction. I have the power to choose, and sometimes I resist, fight the current, struggle to go upstream. And, you offer me lessons then, too. But always, always, there is the downstream current offering me peace and rest. Thank you.
I’m not gonna lie – I wish we were getting some of the snow from this huge storm. Up here in New Hampshire we’ve got cloud cover, but the storm is predicted to stay south of us.
And I say that, my wish for big snow, after being in Salem last year for the snowiest winter on record. As with a lot of things, I saw all the snow as an opportunity to do things I don’t always get a chance to do, including to snowshoe, and to bond with neighbors as we all teamed up each storm to clear driveways, sidewalks, and streets.
Because, this I know – as much snow as there was, it eventually was gone. The sun shined again, spring came, and everything bloomed. To all things a season.
So, this is winter. Bring me snow to shovel, fields and trails to snowshoe and ski, friends to hunker down and commune with during the storms, and loved ones to huddle with to stay safe and warm.
Winter invites a different path to adventure, and I relish it. The terrain shifts and changes; heat is self-generated and dynamic; dried, warm, and cozy are the rewards of effort.
I once took a two-day winter mountaineering course in the White Mountains. The class just so happened to coincide with a brutal cold spell, where highs barely reached the low single-digits above zero. Learning how to keep warm and hydrated wasn’t just theoretical, as we spent many hours each day exposed to the frigid temperatures.
The first day, I learned the basics of ice climbing, scaling vertically up frozen water, using ice axes and crampons, while on a belay system. In the afternoon, we practiced winter mountaineering strategies and techniques on how to stay warm, conserve energy, extricate ourselves from deep snow, and how to self-arrest with an ice axe if we fell on a slope.
The second day, we attempted to summit Mount Washington. Not technically a winter mountaineering route, there would be no ice-climbing, nor any real danger of a fall on a severe slope. But, managing our bodies – especially temperature and hydration, over the hours-long trek, was essential. It put to the test much of what we learned on the first day.
Moving in the mountains in winter is substantially different than other months. You need to be prepared if anything goes wrong and you were to get stuck outside overnight. So, you start with extra insulated gear and emergency shelter. All the gear and clothing you’re wearing and carrying is heavier, with extra insulation to provide warmth.
You travel at a deliberate pace to maintain your core temperature. You don’t want to perspire, because that will actually chill you later. Slow and steady is the key; especially with the extra weight, while churning through the plodding, and at times treacherous, footing.
We moved slowly, breaking for short rests and sips of water, gaining steady elevation. At timberline, we rested, and the instructor asked us to estimate the time. It’s something I think we tend to take for granted. Sure, we can usually gauge time pretty well in our daily lives; but, it can be trickier when we are out of our element. Because I had been spending a lot of time outdoors, I had gotten practice estimating how much daylight I had remaining; so, I did a good job of estimating how long we had been climbing, and knew when the sun would set.
The reality was that there wasn’t going to be enough daylight to continue up the summit cone to the summit, and then retrace our way back down the mountain. So, we learned another lesson of backcountry travel and winter mountaineering – stay aware of time and conditions, and know when to say when. So, we packed up and headed back down the mountain, staying safe and learning a lot.
I returned to Mount Washington to try again; this time alone, which carried additional risk. I climbed with my mountaineering boots, crampons, and ice axe; taking my time, steadily gaining elevation, and feeling so much like the only person on this mountain, in this world, at the time.
I’d love to tell you that I made the summit. But, conditions got ominous; and, particularly because I was trekking alone, I turned back at the base of the summit cone. I did spot a figure partway up the final ridge. Simultaneously, my sense of solitude slipped; yet, I felt a camaraderie with this unknown climber. Somewhere, I have a photograph of that climber, silhouetted against the storm-gray sky.
That image sometimes comes to mind when I’m working through something challenging but rewarding. So, I’m grateful to have been there. I hope we both got off the mountain safely that day!
Wishing safe travels to All. Onward, my Guides!
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