Raven
Well-known member
I was in the back of our Flags on the 48 group as we came down off the summit cone of Washington Sunday. A friend had generously asked me if I would like to come along. That was an offer I couldn’t refuse. We had hiked up the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail in the morning in great conditions and headed into the clouds on Washington’s summit cone. After we had secured the flag, I spent some time watching the flashes of red, white, and blue. I listened to the crack of the fabric in the wind. It was mesmerizing, much like staring into the dance of a fire, a truly beautiful sight in beautiful surroundings.
After a time admiring the flag and recalling the reason we were flying them, I wandered around the summit cone hoping to get some clear views and maybe see some other flags. Although it was a beautiful day, the cool temperatures and winds made me happy to have gloves, hat, and parka while sitting on the rocks. It was actually quite a beautiful late summer day above treeline. I briefly had a clear view to the flag on Mount Clay and was able to get a picture of it, although not a great one. In mid afternoon, we lowered the flag, got the group together, and headed out. I was sweeping the back of the group. We were descending on the Gulfside headed toward the Jewell Trail, having stayed on the summit for a few hours while the flag flew. After crossing the Cog Railway tracks, a VERY observant hiker in our group, a little ahead of me, noticed a man sitting by the trail that didn't seem to be doing so well. He was not with us. Our group was spread out in the front a bit so two of us stayed with the man and sent word with the others to continue on and we would descend together when we could. We were close to the train tracks on the Gulfside Trail, no more than a half mile from the summit.
This 20-something guy was big, clearly strong but with extra weight too. He was on the cold ground wearing shorts, a cotton sweatshirt, baseball cap, and boots. He was slumped over a bit next to his pack with what can best be described as a thousand-yard stare. I shook his hand when I introduced myself; it was cold. As we asked him some questions, he was acting and reacting very slowly and was almost irritable in some responses; he was likely in the very early stages of hypothermia. When asked, he said he felt cold. He had apparently done a rigorous hike the prior day to get up into the Presidential Range and had put in another six or so miles that day, getting off trail at one point and having to struggle up some steep stuff. His group was all ahead of him and had gone on to the summit. We reassured him as we got his boots off and helped him get on a pair of sweat pants over his shorts. I gave him one of my white chocolate macadamia nut bars to munch on; I don’t easily part with these for obvious reasons. We gave him gloves for his hands and a big, puffy, ugly, grey winter hat to replace the Bruins cap he was wearing. As a lifelong Sabres fan, I felt a brief but powerful burning in my finger tips when I took off that hat. I should have thrown it into the windy oblivion while I had the chance. My parka fit him, as I was no small man myself when I bought it.
We flagged down a cog railway car whose driver yelled back he would alert someone at the top. As the car rolled quickly by, we yelled back we were going to try to get him moving and head up. He seemed to be coming around a bit and recognized a passing hiker he had met the previous day. She confirmed his story when I looked at her quizzically. He was cold, exhausted, and likely dehydrated, but his mind was still functioning well. This was really good. His pulse was in the normal range, and we had him taking drinks of water.
We explained to him we were going to start to move toward the safety and warmth of the summit buildings and that as we moved, he should begin to warm up. My partner hoisted our new friend’s pack which had to be well into the fifty to sixty pound range and selflessly carried it the whole time. We joked later that he probably had canned food in there. We were all new once. After about a hundred yards, our friend nearly collapsed in a coughing fit. After a break on a boulder, we began to move again. He was holding his own and navigating the uneven terrain pretty well all things considered. I only had to catch his fall two or three times, and they were small stumbles. We took it slowly and rested often but he began to warm up as we moved higher. I think the three of us knew then and there he was going to be fine, although from the time we knew he could walk on his own, we were never too worried that he needed more than an escort to the top. We were even managing to get a few laughs out of him by the top, and that’s impressive, especially if you know me. I’m really not that funny.
A ranger had been watching our progress with binoculars from the summit and met us near the top. We gave him a bit of information as we walked together inside the small room in the main summit building that serves as first aid. Once inside, our new friend was fairly stunned I think but otherwise probably no worse for the wear. I imagine it was nothing some rest, food, and plenty of water couldn’t fix. He shook our hands, was appreciative, and gave me back my gear before we headed out well behind our group. I believe the assistance we gave him would have been freely given by anyone I have met in the mountain community. And though he had walked up on his own ultimately, I also believe he could have been in a lot more trouble if he hadn’t gotten moving soon.
As we descended the summit cone for the second time that afternoon, and made our way off the mountain, we talked about what had happened. I think we both had understood the symbolism of the day. It was the 10-year anniversary of the tragedies of September 11, 2001. That day left gashes in many of us that will remain eternally painful, and the loss to those closest to the events is unimaginable. It was our generation’s Pearl Harbor. Memories and images from that day still make the strongest weep. But something good came from that day. A phoenix rose from the ashes of the Twin Towers. In the hours, days, weeks, and months following 9-11, we unquestioningly helped people in need. We introduced ourselves to strangers on planes and said hello to each other in parking lots. When I have searched for meaning from the events of September 11, it is to this place that the path has led. It’s the realization that, not only are we able to rise above, but that we must.
After a time admiring the flag and recalling the reason we were flying them, I wandered around the summit cone hoping to get some clear views and maybe see some other flags. Although it was a beautiful day, the cool temperatures and winds made me happy to have gloves, hat, and parka while sitting on the rocks. It was actually quite a beautiful late summer day above treeline. I briefly had a clear view to the flag on Mount Clay and was able to get a picture of it, although not a great one. In mid afternoon, we lowered the flag, got the group together, and headed out. I was sweeping the back of the group. We were descending on the Gulfside headed toward the Jewell Trail, having stayed on the summit for a few hours while the flag flew. After crossing the Cog Railway tracks, a VERY observant hiker in our group, a little ahead of me, noticed a man sitting by the trail that didn't seem to be doing so well. He was not with us. Our group was spread out in the front a bit so two of us stayed with the man and sent word with the others to continue on and we would descend together when we could. We were close to the train tracks on the Gulfside Trail, no more than a half mile from the summit.
This 20-something guy was big, clearly strong but with extra weight too. He was on the cold ground wearing shorts, a cotton sweatshirt, baseball cap, and boots. He was slumped over a bit next to his pack with what can best be described as a thousand-yard stare. I shook his hand when I introduced myself; it was cold. As we asked him some questions, he was acting and reacting very slowly and was almost irritable in some responses; he was likely in the very early stages of hypothermia. When asked, he said he felt cold. He had apparently done a rigorous hike the prior day to get up into the Presidential Range and had put in another six or so miles that day, getting off trail at one point and having to struggle up some steep stuff. His group was all ahead of him and had gone on to the summit. We reassured him as we got his boots off and helped him get on a pair of sweat pants over his shorts. I gave him one of my white chocolate macadamia nut bars to munch on; I don’t easily part with these for obvious reasons. We gave him gloves for his hands and a big, puffy, ugly, grey winter hat to replace the Bruins cap he was wearing. As a lifelong Sabres fan, I felt a brief but powerful burning in my finger tips when I took off that hat. I should have thrown it into the windy oblivion while I had the chance. My parka fit him, as I was no small man myself when I bought it.
We flagged down a cog railway car whose driver yelled back he would alert someone at the top. As the car rolled quickly by, we yelled back we were going to try to get him moving and head up. He seemed to be coming around a bit and recognized a passing hiker he had met the previous day. She confirmed his story when I looked at her quizzically. He was cold, exhausted, and likely dehydrated, but his mind was still functioning well. This was really good. His pulse was in the normal range, and we had him taking drinks of water.
We explained to him we were going to start to move toward the safety and warmth of the summit buildings and that as we moved, he should begin to warm up. My partner hoisted our new friend’s pack which had to be well into the fifty to sixty pound range and selflessly carried it the whole time. We joked later that he probably had canned food in there. We were all new once. After about a hundred yards, our friend nearly collapsed in a coughing fit. After a break on a boulder, we began to move again. He was holding his own and navigating the uneven terrain pretty well all things considered. I only had to catch his fall two or three times, and they were small stumbles. We took it slowly and rested often but he began to warm up as we moved higher. I think the three of us knew then and there he was going to be fine, although from the time we knew he could walk on his own, we were never too worried that he needed more than an escort to the top. We were even managing to get a few laughs out of him by the top, and that’s impressive, especially if you know me. I’m really not that funny.
A ranger had been watching our progress with binoculars from the summit and met us near the top. We gave him a bit of information as we walked together inside the small room in the main summit building that serves as first aid. Once inside, our new friend was fairly stunned I think but otherwise probably no worse for the wear. I imagine it was nothing some rest, food, and plenty of water couldn’t fix. He shook our hands, was appreciative, and gave me back my gear before we headed out well behind our group. I believe the assistance we gave him would have been freely given by anyone I have met in the mountain community. And though he had walked up on his own ultimately, I also believe he could have been in a lot more trouble if he hadn’t gotten moving soon.
As we descended the summit cone for the second time that afternoon, and made our way off the mountain, we talked about what had happened. I think we both had understood the symbolism of the day. It was the 10-year anniversary of the tragedies of September 11, 2001. That day left gashes in many of us that will remain eternally painful, and the loss to those closest to the events is unimaginable. It was our generation’s Pearl Harbor. Memories and images from that day still make the strongest weep. But something good came from that day. A phoenix rose from the ashes of the Twin Towers. In the hours, days, weeks, and months following 9-11, we unquestioningly helped people in need. We introduced ourselves to strangers on planes and said hello to each other in parking lots. When I have searched for meaning from the events of September 11, it is to this place that the path has led. It’s the realization that, not only are we able to rise above, but that we must.
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