Looking Back on Our Winter from the First Day of Spring

It’s the first day of spring. Walking along the beach on Plum Island our winter in the mountains is a world away…a fading dream.

I’ve not seen Atticus this way in a while. He’s flying along the firm sand, ears flying behind like flags in the winds. He appears ready for take off.

Over the past three months his gait has been strong and steady but slow. He was always a constant 20 feet ahead, unless the snow was deep and needed breaking, then he was inches behind my snowshoes. But here on the beach he opens it up, puts the pedal to the metal and is delirious in his freedom of movement under the warm sun. He’s oblivious to the attack and retreat of the waves. Off in the distance he sees a group of dogs with their attendant humans, all of whom seem to come equipped with Starbucks coffee and cell phones. Atticus approaches and is excited to say hello to the other dogs but after the initial sniffs he’s off again. He starts to run fast again and appears to be playing with the wind.

When we get to a small jetty revealed by low tide he’s more at home. He climbs up on top of the large, craggy rocks and leaps from one to another working his way towards that line where sand and sea meet. I follow and am reminded of the climb up Madison, Adams or Jefferson. He settles his furry bottom down and looks out on the horizon. I take a seat behind him so as to not interfere with his view and settle into my own thoughts. The dream comes back. It comes back as I imagine it always will.

In his book “Hymns to an Unknown God” Sam Keen writes that as a minister and as a psychologist he came to believe that most in this world were looking for something to surrender to. People want some to wrap themselves in meaning or purpose, to something bigger than themselves. For the past three months my little dog and I have done that. We gave up our regular life and put it on hold and made the mountains our priority. We surrendered to the winter Whites and our lives are changed for the better because of it.

On the night of the Winter Solstice we took off up the ski slopes of Cannon with a large group of people and two other dogs. The night was bracingly cold, at least on top, but the views were magnificent as we looked down upon the stars of Littleton and other far off places while walking under a heavenly firmament. The next day it was another group, this time up the bony trail of Carrigain. My Lyme Disease was present throughout both hikes and I struggled on both ascents.

On Christmas Eve day we hiked Tecumseh in the morning with friends, came back to the cabin to eat lunch and then Atticus and I were off to Waumbek. It was the first time we’d hiked twice in one day and the initial climb up Starr King was difficult for me. Then something happened…the labored breathing and tight quads disappeared when I discovered a rhythm. At the same time the gray sky and billowing winds faded as we climbed upward. By the time we reached the area between the two summits the sun came out to great us and we were bathed in the golden glow of a sinking sun. The return to the trailhead was glorious, first in the sunset, then under a crescent moon and a sprinkling of stars. And thus started our winter adventure---our winter quest.

Last winter, our first, we set out to hike all 48. The test proved difficult and we came up short. Even a 14-mile hike like Carrigain or over the three Carters was exhausting for the two of us and we were sore by the end of the hike and the next day. This summer we set about to change all that by working on endurance. Many of our hikes stretched from 16-22 miles in length and we built up our endurance. The longer hikes helped not just with our bodies, but with my mind too. I needed to get beyond the limitations I’d put on myself.

Before December ended we undertook a Bonds Traverse and when the winds and a surprising snowstorm came up we were tested but after 15 hours we came off the trail with a new resolve and a sense of confidence.

We ended December with 14 peaks. January brought another 24 peaks. In February we added 27 more summits.

I had various goals for this winter. Atticus and I were attempting to hike two rounds of the 48 while walking for the Jimmy Fund and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. After finishing only 41 peaks the previous winter I was still looking to finish our Winter 48 but I was in no hurry to bring Atticus above tree line until the weather gods invited us up to play. And so we waited and we waited. It wasn’t until the end of February that we climbed the northern Pressies and finished our 48 on Jefferson. Two days later we hiked from Washington to Pierce and finished round one of the 48 in one winter. Another goal was to hike in such a way as to keep Atticus safe and make certain he enjoyed these adventures as much as he does in the weather of the fairer seasons.

I had hoped March would bring wonderful windless and warm days for further above tree line travel. I was hoping to take a shot at a Pressie traverse. The mild weather never really came in March. There was a good snowstorm that slowed us down a bit where we lost seven days, one less than we’d lost after the Valentine’s Day storm. Unfortunately, just as they’d been nearly all winter long, the winds were too strong to chance bringing Atticus up for a very long time.

As the winter grew old we were behind the pace needed to do 96 peaks. We entered the last 28 days needing 47 peaks. We got on a roll. With only 12 days left we had narrowed the gap but still needed 29 peaks. Then on a Friday we hiked Moosilauke. Got up early the next morning (very early) and hiked the ski slopes up Cannon. After breakfast we drove to Waumbek. After lunch it was over to Cabot. The following day we were joined by three folks from Newburyport for a hike up Owl’s Head. That night I dropped my car at Lincoln Woods and the very next morning I drove a friend’s car over to Zealand Road and Atticus I set off to do another Bonds traverse, this one alone, and with Hale added in. I was struggling, feeling sick to my stomach. I dropped my pack long before the summit and realized we wouldn’t be making a traverse on this day. Upon summiting I vomited. We descended the Hale Brook Trail we’d just come up. Back at the trailhead I sat down for a while and took inventory of how I felt.

Throughout the winter our hikes have been punctuated by the thoughts of those who have had cancer, struggled with it and survived, or had lost the battle. Sitting down on my pack, my head dropped between my knees, I thought of a friend who had died from cancer a few years ago. I thought about how ill she felt nearly every moment of those last few months and I figured, “What the heck, I can always turn back later.” And so we were on our way to Zealand Hut. At the hut I was feeling a little better. It wasn’t long before we’d made Zealand, then came West Bond, Bond and Bondcliff. There was no trace of my illness. We moved easily. We moved effortlessly. When we’d finished the traverse I was thrilled with the bounce in Atticus’ step, and in my own freshness. We’d come a long way this winter. We’d grown strong at the weak places.

The following day we did Franconia Ridge from Lafayette to Flume for the second time this winter. By the end of the day we were both still fresh. With eight days left in winter we needed four more hikes to finish our 96 peaks: Isolation; Moriah; Carters and Cats; a Presidential traverse. We never got to them. When we were ready to hike again, on Sunday morning, we were off to do the Carters and Cats when I checked the higher summits forecast and the extended forecast and realized then and there that there would be no Pressie traverse for us before winter ended. We had set out to hike 96 peaks and we were coming up short. It didn’t matter to me whether we hiked 81 or 86 or 88. It was not going to be 96. So I pulled the plug on our quest.

Robert Frost, who loved these mountains, wrote, “I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.” I could say the same for our quest. I knew it was a long shot from the very beginning and I also knew it would be an even longer shot because I would not endanger Atticus by bringing him above tree line except for the best of days and would not hike on questionable days.

There were days I was sure we would finish all 48 peaks and others were I thought it a lost cause. There were nights when I was frightened or lonely; other days when I thought we had undertaken something far beyond our reach. What I learned along the way was that I find these mountains, especially in their winter white, to be enchanting. Peakbagging in the winter months is a wonderful game for winter is a fickle mistress. I learned to take what the mountains and the weather gods gave us. I learned to be patient. I learned to trust Atticus more than ever for he knew his limits and told me what I needed to know so long as I paid attention to him.

In the end we came out of adventure four hikes shy but with a stronger sense of strength, endurance and confidence. I am happy to say we raised far more for the fight against cancer than I initially thought we would. And I can tell you that when it was dark and cold and I was filled with doubt and fear and loneliness I was fortified by the hope, love and loyalty of an abundantly special little dog. The strong bond between man and dog grew stronger. On those rare moments when I needed even more strength, I found it by being motivated by those we were hiking for and in memory of. If they could make the journey they each had to make, we could certainly make it to the end of each of our hikes.

Sitting here on these beach rocks I look upon a little dog looking out on this great ocean while I look back on those many mountains of our winter. I cannot pretend to know what Atticus is thinking, but I know what's in my mind. I cannot decide which is more majestic, this ocean, those mountains, or this little dog who takes both in stride and feels a kinship with each and with his owner. I can’t imagine that we will ever encounter a more enthralling or challenging winter. Looking back now I can say I have loved this journey and will hold it in a special place for as long as I have memories.