THE GREAT NORTH WOODS
On the anniversary
of one of America's most dreadful days, I wanted to avoid adding to what
will undoubtedly be an overdose of commentary, opinion and reflection. I
thought about where I would most want to be and with whom I would want to be
there with. The answer came crisp and clear. The Great North Woods of New
Hampshire with my family. For those of you who have never visited the White
Mountain Region of our state, and beyond, Make it a point to take it in some
day.
My father was an avid hiker and outdoorsman, long before it was fashionable
or in-vogue to do so. At the age of seven, some forty-two years ago, I took
my first hike with him up Mt. Washington. This would become a ritual that we
would repeat countless times, on occasion at great peril, throughout my
childhood and adolescence. At times I dreaded going. In those days, it was
not like it is now. It was desolate with few people on the mountain.
Evenings in Tuckerman's Ravine were spent with a handful of other hikers
around a fire. I remember well the sounds of the mountain at night. The low
groan of the wind, or an actual howl depending on the weather, or a silence
so deep that it resonates within you. The clarity of the mountain air, the
temperature extremes...it has all stayed with me to this day. It is no
coincidence that this area has attracted so many writers, poets, artists and
the like. There is a spirituality here that is palpable. I am grateful for
having been exposed to it, for having it engrained in me.
To further expose the eccentricity of my upbringing, it was ten years ago,
on my parents 50th anniversary, that we all once again touched the mountain.
My two older sisters had decided that it would be fitting to celebrate the
duration of their union with a family lunch in Tuckerman's Ravine. Again,
for those uninitiated, the Ravine is the bowl about half way to the summit
of Mt. Washington. This is where the world famous skiing takes place on the
headwall and below. There are no lifts. Your ski equipment is carried in on
your back, and carried up the slope. The higher you go up the headwall, the
more exciting your skiing will be. The Ravine is also where many hikers
spend the night before going to the summit the next day.
I had much trepidation with regards to my sisters plan. It was mid-October,
for one thing. You could expect any kind of weather on a moments notice.
Additionally, my parents are in their seventies...it's been a long time
since anyone hiked here, Nonetheless, sisters being smarter than brothers,
the plan came together. My parents, my sisters, brother, my two sons, and a
nephew. We would carpool up, hike into the Ravine for a lunch, and then back
out. The hike would begin at Pinkham Notch, a popular base camp.
When the big day came around, work had my departure delayed so I left town
about an hour and a half after everyone else. I could feel my stress level
rising during the drive north, which is about two and a half hours from
where we all live in Southern New Hampshire. As I finally neared Pinkhm
Notch, I could see a wave of dark cloud sinking into the notch. It was
pretty chilly, too, and it began to snow. Now, I'm really getting nervous.
After what seems like an eternity, I arrive at Pinkham and see all the
familiar cars parked, now covered wth a dusting of snow. This is not a good
sign, as by now, I figure I am going to have to run up the trail. I grab my
stuff and begin the walk. There are three bridges you cross on this trail,
which I have not been on in probably twenty years. As I'm hiking up, I am
reflecting on the years since I have been here and yet it is completely
unchanged. In between periods of reflection, I am having small nervous
breakdowns, wondering where everyone is.
I've been going up about an hour and at this point, the trail is getting
treacherous. The snow is covering the rocks and turning to ice. The ground
is just warm enough to melt the snow and the air is just cool enough to
freeze it. I am reaching a full blown panic when I finally hear voices up
the trail. Through the Hallmark haze of snow emerges my nephew and two sons.
Behind them, my father who has fallen and is bleeding slightly from his
forehead. Then, my sisters helping my mother who has fallen and is bleeding
from her right leg. My brother...unscathed. I am relieved beyond words, in
spite of their condition, just to have found them. They never made the
Ravine, they had turned back when the weather went south, but the walking
became so brutal, that they just weren't making time. Nobody was hurt more
than bruises and scrapes, and we made it back to base with no further
calamities.
In the final analysis, it was a fitting celebration. An eccentric bunch, I
suppose, but an almost playful growl from the mountain that had meant so
much to this family, and especially my father. A beautiful, sunny day just
wouldn't have been right, really. You see, the mountain is all about change.
And it's also all about not changing. As I watched my family that day,
through the snow, together, helping each other down a slippery slope, I
realized how lucky I am. How lucky we all are to be here, in this country,
amongst family. September 11, 2001 taught us about change. And, it taught us
about not changing. As I remember my country that day, through the
smoke...the debris and the chaos…helping each other in a time of such need,
I realize how lucky I am to be here.