John in NH
Member
When I was a boy of eight, I once daydreamed during a hot, muggy Memorial day family cookout that it would start to snow and blanket everything. I dismissed it, even then, as impossible.
Yesterday it happened:
Well I know it certainly isn’t impossible for it to snow in the Whites in late May, but magnitude of this weekend’s snow event was highly improbable. Definitely more improbable than the Bruins winning a game 7 in which they were down 4-2 with just over a minute left. Even the towns got snow after all, in the whites and even central NH!
The snow and Moosilauke wasn’t what I wanted for this weekend. I was hoping for something epic, like fast time on a semi pemi run. What I got was way better. A day of tramping through fresh snow on the unofficial start of summer. Soon after starting up the Gorge Brook Trail the snow became a consistent 2-3 inches around 3000 feet. After that the trees were coated, and there was 6-12 inches in the upper reaches before treeline. Then I found this:
Rime ice, fresh snow on the big boys, green leafed out valleys below
For this day, the Whites became the place they once were when I first discovered them. A place of wonder and magic. A place where I felt small. Small not because I felt worthless, but small because I was humbled by a place bigger than me and an awareness of powers bigger still.
Dwarfed hiker
When I spend time with my 2 ½ year old I am reminded that the world was once a place where everything was new and anything can happen. No burdens, hurts, or regrets weigh her down—she is free of those things because they don’t exist for her. Most of my hike was done with a kid-like exuberant smile, even though I was alone, and even though most of my six mile descent down Asquam Ridge featured mushy snow, half a foot of standing water, and trees pouring ice cold melt-off like Saturday’s rain. My smile remained because I felt like my daughter, if just for a day. The world was only a beautiful place where anything could still happen, including things that shouldn’t. I guess it’s all in what we look for in it.
Yesterday it happened:
Well I know it certainly isn’t impossible for it to snow in the Whites in late May, but magnitude of this weekend’s snow event was highly improbable. Definitely more improbable than the Bruins winning a game 7 in which they were down 4-2 with just over a minute left. Even the towns got snow after all, in the whites and even central NH!
The snow and Moosilauke wasn’t what I wanted for this weekend. I was hoping for something epic, like fast time on a semi pemi run. What I got was way better. A day of tramping through fresh snow on the unofficial start of summer. Soon after starting up the Gorge Brook Trail the snow became a consistent 2-3 inches around 3000 feet. After that the trees were coated, and there was 6-12 inches in the upper reaches before treeline. Then I found this:
Rime ice, fresh snow on the big boys, green leafed out valleys below
For this day, the Whites became the place they once were when I first discovered them. A place of wonder and magic. A place where I felt small. Small not because I felt worthless, but small because I was humbled by a place bigger than me and an awareness of powers bigger still.
Dwarfed hiker
When I spend time with my 2 ½ year old I am reminded that the world was once a place where everything was new and anything can happen. No burdens, hurts, or regrets weigh her down—she is free of those things because they don’t exist for her. Most of my hike was done with a kid-like exuberant smile, even though I was alone, and even though most of my six mile descent down Asquam Ridge featured mushy snow, half a foot of standing water, and trees pouring ice cold melt-off like Saturday’s rain. My smile remained because I felt like my daughter, if just for a day. The world was only a beautiful place where anything could still happen, including things that shouldn’t. I guess it’s all in what we look for in it.
