Amantio
New member
As I close in on my first round of the New Hampshire 48, I peruse my climbing journal to review my hikes and to reflect upon my various hiking companions. It turns out I’ve done over one-third of my hikes solo, mostly on day trips from Plymouth, Mass.
Although I’ve cajoled and entreated Mrs. Amantio to join me more often on my climbing quest, she has been a reluctant participant, citing fears that her knees, injured to the point of surgery in High School many, many years ago, were not up to the rigors of decent. So acute is this fear that last year, having joined me on an ascent to the very summit of Mount Washington via the challenging Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail, she promptly made a bee line for the cog railway kiosk, purchased a one way standby ticket, and left me to descend via the Jewell in solitude. Mrs. Amantio is a proud woman, however, and it still chagrins here when I point out that she cannot claim to have climbed Big George having availed herself of such substantial assistance back to the trailhead.
Although I enjoy solo hiking to a fair degree, I’d usually rather have company. I’ve attempted to persuade Mrs. Amantio that more regular climbing will strengthen her legs for the descent, easing recovery time, but this has proved a difficult sell. Still, over the past year and a half I’ve been joined by my wife on eleven mountain excursions, including no fewer than three winter outings, the most recent of which was a Valentine’s Day toot to the top of Cannon. Cards were exchanged on the summit. It was cute.
Lately there has been some progress in the leg/knee department. In the past year, Mrs. Amantio has picked up a more regular running routine, even participating in local 5K road races, and has placed respectfully in her age class. I think it is fair to say that right now Mrs. Amantio is in the best shape she’s been in since her days as a collegiate athlete back old Alma Mater. So a few weeks ago, when I began my pitch to have her join me on a trek up Madison, her reluctance finally gave way to cautious acquiescence.
Reservations were made for a post hike night at the very fine “Above the Notch” Motel. Big shot that I am, I was not going to subject my wife to the rigors of a sleeping pad and bag in a wind blown tent on the eve of our 29th wedding anniversary. I thought a post hike celebratory drink at the Mount Washington Resort would also be in good order to mark the occasion.
Out of our house before Saturday’s dawn, we pulled in to the Appalachia parking area just before 9, and were on the trail shortly thereafter. I had chosen a route off the beaten track for ascent, out the Sylvan Way and up the Howker Ridge. This certainly proved scenic and quite challenging.
Mostly clear skies made way to increasing overcast as we made our way up, but the views remained dramatic none the less, and reminded both of us why climbing is such a satisfying way to break a sweat. When we finally made our way over the three “Howks” and on to the summit, we found ourselves joining a party already in progress, with a 48 finisher in a custom made tee shirt savoring completion of her quest.
The really challenging part of Mrs. Amantio’s day was just beginning, however. Descent has always been the bugaboo for her. After summit relaxation, we began the rock hop portion of our journey down. I showed her the spot where, last April, in an event which will never see the light of a trip report, I began my slide down the icy face of Madison’s summit cone, only to come to rest at the very foundation of the hut. She was sufficiently impressed.
We rested and snacked at the hut, Mrs. Amantio sampling the famous hut soup of the day, gathered ourselves, and began the long slog down the Valley Way, picking our way down the endless series of stone steps back to Appalachia. Ah, the Valley Way, just about the perfect trail, only about a mile too long.
When we got back to the car, inventory was taken. Shoulders: Good. Hips: Good. Knees: GOOD! Feet: Acceptable. All in all: A terrific day.
Later that evening, the drinks tasted especially good on the veranda at the Mount Washington. My wife, my best friend and my favorite hiking partner had found her Mountain Mojo. Life couldn’t be better.
Although I’ve cajoled and entreated Mrs. Amantio to join me more often on my climbing quest, she has been a reluctant participant, citing fears that her knees, injured to the point of surgery in High School many, many years ago, were not up to the rigors of decent. So acute is this fear that last year, having joined me on an ascent to the very summit of Mount Washington via the challenging Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail, she promptly made a bee line for the cog railway kiosk, purchased a one way standby ticket, and left me to descend via the Jewell in solitude. Mrs. Amantio is a proud woman, however, and it still chagrins here when I point out that she cannot claim to have climbed Big George having availed herself of such substantial assistance back to the trailhead.
Although I enjoy solo hiking to a fair degree, I’d usually rather have company. I’ve attempted to persuade Mrs. Amantio that more regular climbing will strengthen her legs for the descent, easing recovery time, but this has proved a difficult sell. Still, over the past year and a half I’ve been joined by my wife on eleven mountain excursions, including no fewer than three winter outings, the most recent of which was a Valentine’s Day toot to the top of Cannon. Cards were exchanged on the summit. It was cute.
Lately there has been some progress in the leg/knee department. In the past year, Mrs. Amantio has picked up a more regular running routine, even participating in local 5K road races, and has placed respectfully in her age class. I think it is fair to say that right now Mrs. Amantio is in the best shape she’s been in since her days as a collegiate athlete back old Alma Mater. So a few weeks ago, when I began my pitch to have her join me on a trek up Madison, her reluctance finally gave way to cautious acquiescence.
Reservations were made for a post hike night at the very fine “Above the Notch” Motel. Big shot that I am, I was not going to subject my wife to the rigors of a sleeping pad and bag in a wind blown tent on the eve of our 29th wedding anniversary. I thought a post hike celebratory drink at the Mount Washington Resort would also be in good order to mark the occasion.
Out of our house before Saturday’s dawn, we pulled in to the Appalachia parking area just before 9, and were on the trail shortly thereafter. I had chosen a route off the beaten track for ascent, out the Sylvan Way and up the Howker Ridge. This certainly proved scenic and quite challenging.
Mostly clear skies made way to increasing overcast as we made our way up, but the views remained dramatic none the less, and reminded both of us why climbing is such a satisfying way to break a sweat. When we finally made our way over the three “Howks” and on to the summit, we found ourselves joining a party already in progress, with a 48 finisher in a custom made tee shirt savoring completion of her quest.
The really challenging part of Mrs. Amantio’s day was just beginning, however. Descent has always been the bugaboo for her. After summit relaxation, we began the rock hop portion of our journey down. I showed her the spot where, last April, in an event which will never see the light of a trip report, I began my slide down the icy face of Madison’s summit cone, only to come to rest at the very foundation of the hut. She was sufficiently impressed.
We rested and snacked at the hut, Mrs. Amantio sampling the famous hut soup of the day, gathered ourselves, and began the long slog down the Valley Way, picking our way down the endless series of stone steps back to Appalachia. Ah, the Valley Way, just about the perfect trail, only about a mile too long.
When we got back to the car, inventory was taken. Shoulders: Good. Hips: Good. Knees: GOOD! Feet: Acceptable. All in all: A terrific day.
Later that evening, the drinks tasted especially good on the veranda at the Mount Washington. My wife, my best friend and my favorite hiking partner had found her Mountain Mojo. Life couldn’t be better.
