That intense, exhilarating-in-retrospect, desperately fearful hour on the ice slide is a snapshot of my life. I live it by myself, dependent on just me. No one else. Me alone. I am incredibly lucky to have a husband and children who love and support me, and a hiking partner who is strong, courageous and wise. I am blessed to have a therapist, who, like the cairns along the trail, helps me find my way. But in the end, I do it alone. My choices are my own. No one else can live my life but me. No one else can get me up the mountain but me.
I change my sweat-soaked clothes and Pat and I head off for the last .8 miles to the summit. The landscape is monochrome and moon-like; the shrubs are covered with rime ice, branches coated in inches of ice, and the trail is ice covered by a thin coat of snow. The sun darts in and out of the clouds, revealing a view for moments before taking it away. The walk to the summit is relatively easy although the wind picks up as we near the cloud-enshrouded top. We arrive at the stone foundation on top of Moosilauke at noon. The visibility is very low and the wind is roaring. It is so cold I hold my hood down around my face, turning away from the force and bite of the gale. There are five people on the summit, surprisingly, and a kind man covered up entirely by goggles and a balaclava takes our picture. No doddling, we quickly head back the way we came. I am dreading the ice slide, but I push it out of my mind and try to stay centered in the moment.
It is not long before we are right back on top of the steep section. We don’t even pause, but head straight down. The ice seems a tiny bit softer and I can just barely get the tip of my pole into the ice. Pat is first; brave courageous girl. She kicks in her heels hard against the ice numerous times and barely gets a hold and takes a step. Then she kicks with the other heel. I am the beneficiary of the heel holes and believe me; there is not a one that I am not thankful for. Near the top of the steep section, we see two people sitting among the trees. They have bare-booted their way up to that point. Oh my God! They share that they have decided to turn around. I can’t believe they got as far as they did.
Unlike going up, I am nervous descending but not scared to death. I am very focused. I am determined to get down safely. It is slow going and we are passed by a number of people wearing crampons. We stay to the side of the trail when possible, sometimes falling into spruce traps up to our hips.
Part way down, the worst happens. Pat loses her footing and falls on the ice slide. She starts coasting down the trail. Miraculously, she catches herself, hands around an ice-glazed tree trunk. I scream, “Pat!” If I can reach her, I can help her get back on her feet. But, before I can get there, she loses her grip and begins her terrifying way-too-fast, out-of-control downward plummet. All I can do is watch helplessly, calling out her name. She barrels into a tree. A terrible moment of silence and then she yells back she is OK. She’s a bit banged up, but seems fine when I reach her.
We meet a guy who is amazed Dejah made it up the ice slide. He said he met a guy who turned around because his dog just couldn’t make it up.
It takes us about an hour to get down the steep section. For most of it I am holding my breath. My shoulders have become permanent additions to my ears. My right shoulder, a bum shoulder since a car accident years ago, hurts like crazy because I have been leaning all my body weight on my right pole. My mittens hold pine gum and scent, having desperately grasped onto every pungent pine branch along the trail for dear life.
When we get off the steep section I take a deep breath, bring my shoulders down from my ears and smile for the first time in hours. I look at Pat and see the relief spread across her face. We are both in one piece. We’re out off the ice slide and back into the Christmas tree section of the trail. Whooo Hoooo!
By the time we get to the lower section of the mountain, the sun has warmed the trail and the snow is slop. It is like walking in a slushy. We get back to the car, exhausted and totally done at 3:30, both of us knowing that something important happened today.
*******
Our Moosilauke hike may be impossible to relive and frustrating to try to fully share with others. But the realization the experience inspires is life-defining. The remnants of the adventure leave me feeling both blessed and let down. Blessed to have lived so ferociously on Moosilauke, let down that the intensity of life is so much less, sitting at my computer, writing this trip report. I was alive on that mountain, passionately, fearfully, alive, every step of the way. I love the feeling of life coursing through my body, both the fear and the excitement. That is how I want to live. I want to live life big, on a grand scale, with enough fire and exuberance and love and inspiration to share. I want to look at life as a constant adventure and choose how high to climb. And I can do that -- because I am the one making the choices. I’m the one getting myself up the mountain. It is totally up to me.
Hike pictures
I change my sweat-soaked clothes and Pat and I head off for the last .8 miles to the summit. The landscape is monochrome and moon-like; the shrubs are covered with rime ice, branches coated in inches of ice, and the trail is ice covered by a thin coat of snow. The sun darts in and out of the clouds, revealing a view for moments before taking it away. The walk to the summit is relatively easy although the wind picks up as we near the cloud-enshrouded top. We arrive at the stone foundation on top of Moosilauke at noon. The visibility is very low and the wind is roaring. It is so cold I hold my hood down around my face, turning away from the force and bite of the gale. There are five people on the summit, surprisingly, and a kind man covered up entirely by goggles and a balaclava takes our picture. No doddling, we quickly head back the way we came. I am dreading the ice slide, but I push it out of my mind and try to stay centered in the moment.
It is not long before we are right back on top of the steep section. We don’t even pause, but head straight down. The ice seems a tiny bit softer and I can just barely get the tip of my pole into the ice. Pat is first; brave courageous girl. She kicks in her heels hard against the ice numerous times and barely gets a hold and takes a step. Then she kicks with the other heel. I am the beneficiary of the heel holes and believe me; there is not a one that I am not thankful for. Near the top of the steep section, we see two people sitting among the trees. They have bare-booted their way up to that point. Oh my God! They share that they have decided to turn around. I can’t believe they got as far as they did.
Unlike going up, I am nervous descending but not scared to death. I am very focused. I am determined to get down safely. It is slow going and we are passed by a number of people wearing crampons. We stay to the side of the trail when possible, sometimes falling into spruce traps up to our hips.
Part way down, the worst happens. Pat loses her footing and falls on the ice slide. She starts coasting down the trail. Miraculously, she catches herself, hands around an ice-glazed tree trunk. I scream, “Pat!” If I can reach her, I can help her get back on her feet. But, before I can get there, she loses her grip and begins her terrifying way-too-fast, out-of-control downward plummet. All I can do is watch helplessly, calling out her name. She barrels into a tree. A terrible moment of silence and then she yells back she is OK. She’s a bit banged up, but seems fine when I reach her.
We meet a guy who is amazed Dejah made it up the ice slide. He said he met a guy who turned around because his dog just couldn’t make it up.
It takes us about an hour to get down the steep section. For most of it I am holding my breath. My shoulders have become permanent additions to my ears. My right shoulder, a bum shoulder since a car accident years ago, hurts like crazy because I have been leaning all my body weight on my right pole. My mittens hold pine gum and scent, having desperately grasped onto every pungent pine branch along the trail for dear life.
When we get off the steep section I take a deep breath, bring my shoulders down from my ears and smile for the first time in hours. I look at Pat and see the relief spread across her face. We are both in one piece. We’re out off the ice slide and back into the Christmas tree section of the trail. Whooo Hoooo!
By the time we get to the lower section of the mountain, the sun has warmed the trail and the snow is slop. It is like walking in a slushy. We get back to the car, exhausted and totally done at 3:30, both of us knowing that something important happened today.
*******
Our Moosilauke hike may be impossible to relive and frustrating to try to fully share with others. But the realization the experience inspires is life-defining. The remnants of the adventure leave me feeling both blessed and let down. Blessed to have lived so ferociously on Moosilauke, let down that the intensity of life is so much less, sitting at my computer, writing this trip report. I was alive on that mountain, passionately, fearfully, alive, every step of the way. I love the feeling of life coursing through my body, both the fear and the excitement. That is how I want to live. I want to live life big, on a grand scale, with enough fire and exuberance and love and inspiration to share. I want to look at life as a constant adventure and choose how high to climb. And I can do that -- because I am the one making the choices. I’m the one getting myself up the mountain. It is totally up to me.
Hike pictures
