wardsgirl
Active member
Some people may call me an abusive parent. Instead of letting my son develop his My Space page or install an intravenous line of soda into his arm so he doesn’t need to travel too far from the Playstation, I’ve made him go hiking. Not just once or twice, but over and over again. He never wants to go, but he never bothers arguing much about going either. He really doesn’t have a choice.
Twelve years ago, I started hiking north from Springer Mountain when I was four months pregnant. I have been hiking and backpacking extensively for 25 years. People told me that my hiking days would be over when I had the baby, and I immediately set out to prove them wrong. Determined not to let my baby end my enjoyment of the outdoors, I decided I would always take him with me. When he was four weeks old, I carried him in a front sling on a dayhike up Mt. Chocorua. Sure, I knew I was supposed to wait the requisite six weeks, but my midwife agreed that it was OK in my case. After that, he rode in the sling while I carried my regular backpack. When he was two years old and a strong walker, we backpacked the Wildcat Ridge. Ten miles, five days. He was off to a blistering pace for a peakbagger. Hey, some adults don’t even bag two peaks in five days.
As he grew older, other activities competed for his attention. Baseball, karate, or just hanging around with his friends became preferable options. After all, he never asked to go hiking. Still, we found the time to hike.
“Let’s go for a hike this weekend,” I’d say.
“Dayhike or overnight?” he’d ask.
The answer never really mattered. It was usually OK.
Over the years, he has spent time with me as a trail maintainer, a fill-in Caretaker at Guyot, and backpacked a big chunk of the AT and Long Trail. He likes to see the reaction on people’s face when he lights an MSR stove using only a flint. He successfully keeps up with thru-hikers for days at a time. If he gets separated from me, he carries not only enough gear to spend the night, but also the knowledge of how to use it. We have had every conversation that two people can have.
A few years ago, he started making a letter X within 48 circles on an old map of the Whites. There have been plenty of times when he did not get to make that X on the first try. He was caught in a hailstorm on Adams. He once found himself doing the backstroke after falling off the birch tree bridge on Dicey’s Mill Trail on a chilly October day. Although he had climbed 4000 footers in the Dacks, Maine and Vermont, eventually there was only Carrigain left to finish the 48.
When he reached the top, I handed him a congratulatory Mountain Dew. We stood on the fire tower platform and named the 42 peaks on the horizon.
“How does it feel to have climbed all these peaks?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said the kid whose initials are E.M.S. and who shares a name with Ethan Crawford, the builder of the longest continuously maintained footpath in the United States. “It just seems like another hike.”
Twelve years ago, I started hiking north from Springer Mountain when I was four months pregnant. I have been hiking and backpacking extensively for 25 years. People told me that my hiking days would be over when I had the baby, and I immediately set out to prove them wrong. Determined not to let my baby end my enjoyment of the outdoors, I decided I would always take him with me. When he was four weeks old, I carried him in a front sling on a dayhike up Mt. Chocorua. Sure, I knew I was supposed to wait the requisite six weeks, but my midwife agreed that it was OK in my case. After that, he rode in the sling while I carried my regular backpack. When he was two years old and a strong walker, we backpacked the Wildcat Ridge. Ten miles, five days. He was off to a blistering pace for a peakbagger. Hey, some adults don’t even bag two peaks in five days.
As he grew older, other activities competed for his attention. Baseball, karate, or just hanging around with his friends became preferable options. After all, he never asked to go hiking. Still, we found the time to hike.
“Let’s go for a hike this weekend,” I’d say.
“Dayhike or overnight?” he’d ask.
The answer never really mattered. It was usually OK.
Over the years, he has spent time with me as a trail maintainer, a fill-in Caretaker at Guyot, and backpacked a big chunk of the AT and Long Trail. He likes to see the reaction on people’s face when he lights an MSR stove using only a flint. He successfully keeps up with thru-hikers for days at a time. If he gets separated from me, he carries not only enough gear to spend the night, but also the knowledge of how to use it. We have had every conversation that two people can have.
A few years ago, he started making a letter X within 48 circles on an old map of the Whites. There have been plenty of times when he did not get to make that X on the first try. He was caught in a hailstorm on Adams. He once found himself doing the backstroke after falling off the birch tree bridge on Dicey’s Mill Trail on a chilly October day. Although he had climbed 4000 footers in the Dacks, Maine and Vermont, eventually there was only Carrigain left to finish the 48.
When he reached the top, I handed him a congratulatory Mountain Dew. We stood on the fire tower platform and named the 42 peaks on the horizon.
“How does it feel to have climbed all these peaks?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said the kid whose initials are E.M.S. and who shares a name with Ethan Crawford, the builder of the longest continuously maintained footpath in the United States. “It just seems like another hike.”
