My Worst Hike Ever
Everest Woman is responsible for my worst hike ever: a December 2007 ascent of the Hancocks in the White Mountains. To this day I have not forgiven her. I was cold. So cold. This is the story.
It was December 1, 2007. The forecast read cold. So cold, in fact that the night before Chuck, Tim, and I had changed objectives from ice climbing in Huntington Ravine to hiking. Our logic: Minus 20 was bearable hiking, not belaying.
The next morning, in the parking lot, Chuck surprised us. Two companions. I’d been expecting one, Everest Woman, a local mountaineer that the understated Chuck had been hyping-up all fall. The second: Everest Woman’s videographer.
Truth be told, I was intimidated. She had a videographer. She’d already climbed 4 of the 7 Summits. She was leaving to attempt her fifth in a few weeks. I figured she’d be in shape and fast. Tim concurred. So we started early. Chuck assured us that they’d catch us quickly.
About a mile in, Tim and I stopped to work on our avy beacon skills. Our rationale: they’d catch up while we practiced. Twenty minutes later, they were nowhere in sight. What the heck: the trail was flat. Where were they? The thought quickly dissipated. We were cold and started up again.
By a river crossing near mile 2.5, we stopped again to wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, Chuck appeared. They’d started slow, he said, trying to hide his frustration. The videographer was getting pictures. They’d catch up soon.
By the time soon became eventually, the duo arrived. I still have no idea what took them so long. It didn’t matter. Despite jumping jacks, arm twirls, and running in place, I was frozen.
At this point, Chuck suggested we three split off and let Everest Woman and her videographer proceed at their own pace. Tim and I readily agreed. Shortly thereafter, we crested a Hancock summit. Another soon followed. A little while later, we looped by the river crossing, racing darkness back to the cars.
Near the trailhead, Chuck turned around. I think I lent him my headlamp. He needed it. He was going to hike back in to meet the dynamic duo on their descent. They’d be done shortly he said, promising he’d text when they finished. Tim and I headed for dinner.
Driving home after dinner, we still hadn’t heard from Chuck. Certainly, we thought, they were done by now. We’d almost reached Concord. Still, our anxiety grew after I called and got no answer. We both started wondering: should we go back?
Before Tim and I parted ways in southern NH, I called again. Still no answer. We left with a semblance of a plan: If we didn’t hear from Chuck by the time we reached home, we’d repack and head north.
The 40 minutes to Boston dragged. Still no word. At home, I started re-packing. Finally, he called. Three hours later they’d finished. The epic sounded familiar: in fading light they’d pushed onward, hoping to make it across the ridge to the second Hancock summit, when the videographer bonked. They made it, but it was a long walk out.
I’m sure there’s a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe it even involves me. But 10+ years later, I’m still too frustrated to figure it out. All I know is that waiting in the cold sucks.
Words by Doug Martland
Photos by Tim Peck
