Amantio
New member
Dear Santa,
I know that the usual procedure is for a correspondent to your workshop to make an appeal on his own behalf for a Christmas gift, and also that the correspondent is usually between the ages of five and, say, eight, but I ran into a situation this past weekend that would benefit from your attention. You see, I had the opportunity to hike Saturday with a new friend, MikeP, from Connecticut. We planned to tackle Pierce, Jackson, and Webster, and then hike down the Webster Cliff Trail (AT) to its intersection with Route 302, making for a nice 10.4 mile traverse.
The day was beautiful, with cool temperatures in Crawford Notch giving way to increasingly colder conditions as we gained elevation on the Crawford Path up to the Mizpah Cutoff. It was either just before or not long after our break at the cutoff that the gradually increasing accumulations of snow on the trail began to be mixed with ice. The ice was patchy at first, and was easily avoided. Eventually, though, the ice became prevalent to the point that either its avoidance slowed progress enough to be annoying, or in places it simply could not be avoided at all.
Thankfully I had had the foresight to pack my light traction, which I had conveniently strapped to the back of my pack. When bare booting became too much of a chore, which was somewhere on the Crawford Path at about 3,500 feet, my Microspikes® went on, not to be removed until we were nearly to the final trailhead.
Poor Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t own light traction, and when the going got too treacherous, he had to break out his big, ole honkin’ crampons, all twelve teeth of them, bend over, mess with the binding, mess with the straps, and then proceed over the stretch of ice which, inevitably, would last for no more than a hundred feet, after which we would both enjoy the sound of “dry tooling”, or the scrape of metal crampons over bare rock. After a bit of that he would stop to take off the crampons, straps and all, stow them, and proceed up the trail for about, oh, another hundred feet or so, until the ice was sufficiently unavoidable and dangerous for the procedure to be repeated.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Santa, this was a fun day in the mountains. The higher elevations on this trip were a winter wonderland, with rime ice coating stunted spruce atop Pierce, and a ceiling high enough to enjoy stunning views of Eisenhower and Monroe, with a backdrop of Washington struggling to break out of its crown of cloud. I’m sure that if I had a decent digital camera, I would have been able to get some marvelous shots of the beautiful scenery (hint, hint).
Anyway, this isn't about my needs, but about my friend, Mike's. Do you think you could see that some light traction shows up in his stocking this year? I know that Mike can afford some himself, but his priorities seem to be a little mixed up lately. He told me that on his way up to New Hampshire on Friday, he stopped at an outdoor adventure store and even saw a display of light traction at the check out counter. But instead of springing for an item which would enhance the safety and convenience of his mountain experience, he bought a pair of fancy pants sunglasses, which, by the way, fell out of his pocket and bounced on the rocks on no fewer than a half dozen occasions while he was bending over and was (you guessed it) messing with his crampons!
When Mike and I finally found ourselves atop Jackson, at least an hour beyond our target time and with a cold wind fiercely blowing from the west, we decided to truncate our little journey, and head back to Crawford Notch via the Jackson Webster Trail. The descent, needless to say, also saw its fair share of ice, with the attendant removal and reapplication of the crampons. Mike and I also observed what we considered to be some woefully unprepared hikers, including some kids in sneakers. I’m sure their trip down the mountain was a joy.
Thank you for your consideration of my request, Santa, and thank you also for all the neat things I’ve received for Christmas over the years. Oh, and, Santa, there’s just one more thing. Mike was forty-five minutes late for our morning meeting on Route 302 so, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you also get him a frikkin’ alarm clock?
Sincerely,
Amantio
I know that the usual procedure is for a correspondent to your workshop to make an appeal on his own behalf for a Christmas gift, and also that the correspondent is usually between the ages of five and, say, eight, but I ran into a situation this past weekend that would benefit from your attention. You see, I had the opportunity to hike Saturday with a new friend, MikeP, from Connecticut. We planned to tackle Pierce, Jackson, and Webster, and then hike down the Webster Cliff Trail (AT) to its intersection with Route 302, making for a nice 10.4 mile traverse.
The day was beautiful, with cool temperatures in Crawford Notch giving way to increasingly colder conditions as we gained elevation on the Crawford Path up to the Mizpah Cutoff. It was either just before or not long after our break at the cutoff that the gradually increasing accumulations of snow on the trail began to be mixed with ice. The ice was patchy at first, and was easily avoided. Eventually, though, the ice became prevalent to the point that either its avoidance slowed progress enough to be annoying, or in places it simply could not be avoided at all.
Thankfully I had had the foresight to pack my light traction, which I had conveniently strapped to the back of my pack. When bare booting became too much of a chore, which was somewhere on the Crawford Path at about 3,500 feet, my Microspikes® went on, not to be removed until we were nearly to the final trailhead.
Poor Mike, on the other hand, doesn’t own light traction, and when the going got too treacherous, he had to break out his big, ole honkin’ crampons, all twelve teeth of them, bend over, mess with the binding, mess with the straps, and then proceed over the stretch of ice which, inevitably, would last for no more than a hundred feet, after which we would both enjoy the sound of “dry tooling”, or the scrape of metal crampons over bare rock. After a bit of that he would stop to take off the crampons, straps and all, stow them, and proceed up the trail for about, oh, another hundred feet or so, until the ice was sufficiently unavoidable and dangerous for the procedure to be repeated.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Santa, this was a fun day in the mountains. The higher elevations on this trip were a winter wonderland, with rime ice coating stunted spruce atop Pierce, and a ceiling high enough to enjoy stunning views of Eisenhower and Monroe, with a backdrop of Washington struggling to break out of its crown of cloud. I’m sure that if I had a decent digital camera, I would have been able to get some marvelous shots of the beautiful scenery (hint, hint).
Anyway, this isn't about my needs, but about my friend, Mike's. Do you think you could see that some light traction shows up in his stocking this year? I know that Mike can afford some himself, but his priorities seem to be a little mixed up lately. He told me that on his way up to New Hampshire on Friday, he stopped at an outdoor adventure store and even saw a display of light traction at the check out counter. But instead of springing for an item which would enhance the safety and convenience of his mountain experience, he bought a pair of fancy pants sunglasses, which, by the way, fell out of his pocket and bounced on the rocks on no fewer than a half dozen occasions while he was bending over and was (you guessed it) messing with his crampons!
When Mike and I finally found ourselves atop Jackson, at least an hour beyond our target time and with a cold wind fiercely blowing from the west, we decided to truncate our little journey, and head back to Crawford Notch via the Jackson Webster Trail. The descent, needless to say, also saw its fair share of ice, with the attendant removal and reapplication of the crampons. Mike and I also observed what we considered to be some woefully unprepared hikers, including some kids in sneakers. I’m sure their trip down the mountain was a joy.
Thank you for your consideration of my request, Santa, and thank you also for all the neat things I’ve received for Christmas over the years. Oh, and, Santa, there’s just one more thing. Mike was forty-five minutes late for our morning meeting on Route 302 so, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you also get him a frikkin’ alarm clock?
Sincerely,
Amantio
