Pride and Precipice
We knew the conditions would be far from ideal. It had been raining, torrential at times, for more than two days. Flooding already was a problem in New England.
But with the skies clearing early in the morning two days ago, we figured we could climb Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire, elevation 3,165 feet.
Monadnock is well-known, famous even, because it is an isolated mountain that more than a century ago gave its name to all such mountains that stand alone. I’m skeptical of the claim that it is the most climbed mountain in America, but it unquestionably is hugely popular.
Staying nearby at the Inn at East Hill Farm in Troy, New Hampshire, we’d had a few brief views of the whole mountain when it wasn’t socked in by fog and rain, as if it was teasing us.
It would be just the two of us; my daughter, Allison Sterner, and I. I had climbed Monadnock three times before, once in winter, once, 32 years ago, with Allison, who then was 8. It was her first mountain of any significant size. She wanted to do it again.
Back at the inn, Allison’s two young sons, my grandsons, Cy and Andy, and my wife, Susan, were still asleep when we left.
We were hiking minutes after 7:30, choosing the White Dot Trail, the same trail that we did all those years ago. There were few other hikers on the mountain.
In moments, we realized the hike would be tricky. The beginning of the trail, with but a modest incline, was wet rock and mud, rivulets of water still dribbling down the mountain.
We agreed to be careful. On we went.
Before long the trail became steeper with more rocks. In places were boulders 5-feet in diameter and more. Without actually saying so, we both realized that each step was an adventure. Pay attention.
After a mile, which had taken us something like 90 minutes, the trail became even steeper, much steeper than either of us remembered. My most recent Monadnock hike was something like 20 years ago, details forgotten.
At an open area of granite ledge, there were views of the valley far below. The sun was out, blue sky with clouds. We got photos.
Some background. Allison and I are fit. She does half marathons and high-intensity interval training. I exercise more than an hour daily on average 350 days a year.
But I am 76 and I have tendonitis in my right rotator cuff that won’t go away, even after a cortisone shot and physical therapy. Moreover, even with two decades of yoga as part of my regimen, I am simply not as limber as I once was.
Still, the thought of not getting to the top of Monadnock and taking photos - we could count on another hiker at the summit taking our picture - was out of the question.
The conditions on the mountain, however, suggested otherwise.
We reached what likely is the most difficult piece of the trail, not far from the summit. It is a steep wall of huge boulders and ledge. I had trouble finding a manageable route.
Along came a hiker, and not just any hiker, but a guy who lives nearby and hikes the mountain almost every day. He showed us the best approach and exactly how to execute it.
It required my grabbing a sliver of ledge with my right hand and pulling myself up as I lifted my left leg high enough to get a foothold on a tiny nub of rock on the boulder in front of me. Then pull and swing the leg up and over. My shoulder would have none of it.
Allison tried going around the big boulder, hoping that route might work for me, but got herself in a potentially dangerous position on steep ledge and slowly, very carefully, backtracked to safety.
We looked at each other. I most reluctantly suggested we turn around. Allison surely could have finished the trail, but, dear daughter she is, she said she was joining me. We both were disappointed, but, in my case, my pride was wounded, too. Embarrassed even, I said, though I think the moment I said that I knew that it was an overstatement. Anyway, the fact was I set out to hike a mountain like I have so many times before but I didn’t get to the top. Bummer.
The trip down was almost as slow as the ascent. The sun may have come out, but the trail in the woods was still wet, every rock slippery, mud everywhere.
Allison and I talked almost constantly as we do when we hike. Repeatedly we cautioned each other to be especially careful. Every step was a possible mishap. We took our time, concentrating on not getting hurt. Allison rolled her ankle, but fortunately nothing serious. She shook it off.
By now, late morning, the crowds that hike Monadnock on summer days were pouring onto the trail now that the sun had come out. Some, like the hiker who helped show us the way, made it to the summit (he flew by us on the way down) and saw the great views in every direction. On a clear day you can see the John Hancock skyscraper in Boston, more than 60 miles away.
Many others surely turned back at some point.
We found a big flat rock at the side of the trail, surrounded by the wonderful scent of spruce, rainwater trickling over the trail, shafts of sunlight illuminating the woods, and took a long break with an energy bar and lots of water. When we arose, stiffly, we again pledged to concentrate on safety.
Returning to the inn we discovered that a large group of guests who left to climb the mountain shortly after we did returned long before us, having cut their hike short, too.
It wasn’t until yesterday that I put things in perspective.
Yes, I was disappointed that we had not reached the summit. As for wounded pride, well, yeah, a little. But I realized I should instead take pride in knowing that I did what was sensible for me under the conditions. I chose not to take a chance on an injury, however much I wanted to get to the summit.
So, Allison and I are left with a good memory of the day, however challenging it was, and, in hindsight, I am left with the understanding that I somehow avoided mountain hubris.
Perhaps nature and its mountain brought out the best in us. Nature does that.
The White Dot Trail was more difficult than we recalled from our hike of Mount Monadnock decades ago, especially after two days of heavy rain that caused flooding in much of New England. Click to enlarge.
Allison and I atop Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire in August, 1991, when she was 8 going on 9 years old. It was a muggy, overcast day. Click to enlarge.
My daughter, Allison Sterner, at a lookout just over 1 mile from the trailhead this week. The sun had come out, but most of the trail through woods was wet rock and mud, very slippery. Click to enlarge.
I’m smiling here as we neared the summit, but minutes later I suggested we head back because I had trouble working my way over a difficult section of trail, all boulders and ledge. Click to enlarge.
After my shoulder issue closed off one possible route over a difficult boulder and ledge section, Allison sought another route but had to retreat because it was too steep. Click to enlarge.
Allison hiking the White Dot Trail on Mount Monadnock in 1991. It was her first mountain over 3,000 feet elevation. We’ve hiked many mountains since then. Click to enlarge.