Mountain Song

Notes from a trip north

The reason for the delayed departure Saturday morning turned out to be my sister's intended. Before setting out at zero-dark-hundred, he insisted on taking a shower, thereby earning himself the sobriquet of 'Mr. Clean' for the remainder of the trip.

The weather was perfect for hiking on both Saturday and Sunday. The views as we ascended the Headwal of Tuckerman's Ravine were breathtaking. And when we summited Mt. Washington on Sunday, visibility must have been a hundred miles at least. In 18 years of tramping that region, I can't recall any other instance of similar weather magic, especially on Washington.

My hiking boots are dead; long live my hiking boots. Picking our way down the side of Mt. Jefferson on Sunday, I noticed the front soles of my boots shredding and detaching from the rest of the boot. By the time we descended to the ridge Jefferson and Adams, the rocks had completely shredded the soles of my boots - I guess I was being optimistic when I figured the old dogs had one more trip left in them. Two seperate groups of French-Canadian hikers lent me some duct tape to try and lash the soles and uppers together (God bless the French-Canadians, merci beaucoup) but the rocks eventually tore through the tape as well. So I made the last mile of our hike into Madison Hut with my toes literally poking out of the front of my boots, and cursed a blue streak everytime I stubbed them on a rock. The rest of my party found this hilarious, especially since the sun highlighted the silvery tape covering much of my boots. Many references to astronauts and moon boots ensued.

The last leg of our trip, the descent from Mt. Madison down the Valley Way to the highway was the worst part of the trip for me. Instead of hiking boots I wore low-cut Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars. Not the ideal footwear for humping a 40 pound pack down a mountainside. I prayed the rain would hold off (it did) and watched my footing very carefully so as not to turn, twist or sprain an ankle. I felt every rock edge and knotty root through the thin soles of the Chuck T's.

Worst of all, about a third of the way down, my left knee began to ache..which turned into a rather sharp pain everytime my weight came down on my left foot. I soon realized I was counting an odd and profane kind of cadence in time to my left stride...'ouch'..right step...'shit'...right step...'sonofabitch'...right step...'goddam'... . Towards the very end the whole leg bucked and I had visions of my knee blowing out and me spending a happy 33rd truly gimping off the mountain, or worse still, waiting for help. But I'm nothing if not stubborn and manged to haul my cookies down with my knee somewhat intact, though I have a feeling I was sheet white by the time I hit the trailhead. The knee feels allright today, so I'm hoping it was just a strained or pulled muscle or tendon.

I think I'll be sticking around here this weekend.