Pretty simple.
Dad used to take a hiking trip with 'the guys' about once a year, for a few years during my childhood. One year, they came across a child on the most treacherous part of Tuckerman's Ravine (which is pretty tame, comparatively).
"Hey, kid- how old are you, anyway?"
"Seven and a half" he says, straightening himself up.
In retrospect, this group of grown men were likely to be struggling worse than a 7-year-old boy. I've seen kids on mountains. Something about their balance, limby proportions and lack of beer from the night before that makes them agile little mountain goats... that, and 'the guys' probably had a few beers the night before.
There must have been some discussion about this little boy at some point after that. When Dad got home, he told us the story about the Tuckerman's Half-pint, suggesting that I go next year, beacause all 'the guys' are gonna bring their daughters.
I was 9. I'd never even thought of climbing a mountain, but I'd been skiing for a year or two, so it wasn't beyond comprehension.
"Well, if a
boy can do it,
I can!"
The following year, during my march for gender equality, I was a little surprised to be enjoying myself. Its not that hard, if you just keep moving slowly... eventually, you get there.
I used to think there was something magical about the top of Mt. Washington. This surreal landscape of rocks on top of a mountain, broken through the millenia by freeze-thaw. The seafoam green lichin seemed to move, with quick, muscular black spiders that run away as you walk towards them. The giant cumulus is the stuff dreams are made of: flat on the bottom, fluffy and billowing with solid form on top.
I have to say the elements that made Mt. Washington's alpine zone the eeriest is the white noise and soot from the cog railway- not to mention what seemed to me like a LOT of people walking around up there. We were all tiny ants. I've seen it a million times since then, but its really weird at first. The day was clear; the sun was intense. Maybe it was the altitude, but something about that place made me feel high.
The crowds at Mt. Washington's summit these days have become laughable. What started as a way to bring tourism to an alpine setting has become a very popular destination for every minivan driving through New Hampshire. There are
crowds up there in good weather, and its just plain weird, for people who have been on hundreds of other mountain tops without another soul in sight. The auto road and cog railway bring people up there by the herd. The high capacity summit building offers chili dogs and hot cocoa.
This was where I'd meet my first thruhiker. He was a small quiet man, fit and friendly. Dad had exchanged a few words with him breifly and turned to me to explain that he'd been walking since Georgia. I was awestruck. He didn't look destitute or unhappy about it. In fact, he seemed to have this internal smile that shone through all the dirt and came across without saying a word.
Even as hikers, Dad and I were tourists. We were weekend warriors. We did silly things like wear cotton and sneakers. Dad and I got matching t-shirts that explained "This body climbed Mt. Washington".* Unaware that I must've seemed like any tourist on a crowded mountain, I felt like I was worthy of talking to this thruhiking character, since I'd actually WALKED up the hill, and proven that girls can summit mountains, too.
Still, I've even thought once or twice that if I were thruhiking the AT, I'd like to bypass the actual summit and take the alpine garden which is peaceful, flat and my papu's favorite part of Mt. Washington**.
This would be nice, except for a fully functioning post office at the summit. I'll be shipping food and fuel there, so its difficult to pass up the opportunity to have supplies shipped to the highest elevation on the AT. I guess if I wanted to sound nostalgic, I'd say "...but when I think about the inspiration I felt from meeting that fellow, I don't think I could let some other kid miss out on the opportunity to meet their first thruhiker, even if its a little boy."
Still, when I look back on that night, I remember telling dad how fun it was and how sore I was, and I disclosed my plan to hike the AT on the spot. Dad's reaction was understandably skeptical at best. I guess the real reason I'm doing this is so I can say I told you so.
;)
*When I outgrew mine, I stole Dad's as a teenager... because teenage girls steal their dad's clothes. I learned about that by watching the Cosby Show.
**'Papu' is greek for 'grandfather'. Little old mediterranean men are the BEST, and you're jealous of me for having one as a grandfather. Hopefully, he'll leave a comment about his adventure at Mt. Washington's alpine garden. (hint, hint, Papu...)
