A Hiking Gift For My Father (An Old Post)

In light of the passing of my father, I thought I would print the very first thing I wrote about hiking. It was my first post on the popular on-line website Views From The Top. (The photo is of Atticus and myself on top of Bondcliff on the day I've written about below.) It was written back in August of 2005:

On Friday, August 12, 2005 my faithful Atticus (all 20 lbs of him) and I left the Lincoln Woods parking lot at 6:00 am. Due to the cloudy skies we hiked in relative darkness for quite some time and along the flat route of the Lincoln Woods Trail and the Wilderness Trail I had ample time to reflect on this wondrous summer.

Throughout the winter, my friend and soon to be hiking partner, Weetamoo, got me hooked on the idea of doing the 4,000 footers after I lost 96 pounds last year. The quest became all that more serious when she put Steve Smith and Mike Dickerman's "The 4000-Footers of the White Mountains" in my hands. Looking back now, the list in the back of the book looked daunting, especially to a novice hiker and someone who was just coming back into his body.

Somewhere along the way, after trips up Mt. Pemigewasset, Welch/Dickey, and many trips up Mt. Major (the first of which ended with me on all fours heaving), this quest turned into something more. My father, who is 85 years old, loved being in the White Mountains and the time we spent with him there were the best times we shared with him. And what do you give a man who is 85 and doesn't want anything, especially since the Red Sox won the Series? I decided to give my externally cold Irish-American father 48 thank yous for instilling his love of the mountains in his children.

The first time I stepped into the Mountain Wanderer Book & Map Store in Lincoln, NH and saw that blue t-shirt with the list of the 4000-footers hanging there I knew that is what I wanted to give to my father, but first I had to earn it for him.

And so my strange little journey began. A man new to hiking became obsessed. On May 21st we climbed Mt. Hale. Then the following weekend it was Tecumseh, Cannon, and the two Osceolas. This was a confidence builder for someone with a sometimes paralyzing fear of heights, especially East Osceola in the rain from the Kancamagus Highway.

The obsession grew. What started out as a two-year plan (I was hoping Dad would live through two summers) turned into a summer-long goal.

On Friday, as we moved through Lincoln Woods, then the Wilderness Trail, and finally onto the Bondcliff Trail, I couldn't help but think of all the mountains I've gotten to know this summer. For 44 years I've seen most of them from roads and wanted to know their mysteries, the lessons they'd teach, their challenges and spectacular views. For 44 years I've even wondered about their names. In some ways they were strangers to me, but always haunted me, always called to me. And so as we moved up Bondcliff, with Atticus in the lead, as always (except for Adams, Jefferson and Madison which he needed a little help with...not to mention his hiking boots) I couldn't help but think about this quest and about the places and faces we met along the way.

For the better part of four months I've been a lurker out here and have devoured what all of you have had to offer. In the beginning I checked in on trail conditions several times a day and then got into trip reports. Throughout the summer I feel as if I've gotten to know many of you and while I read of your exploits and successes my confidence began to grow. For the better part of four months, in some strange way, you have been my extended family. And unlike Chinooktrail, who reported in a recent report that she doesn't like hiking alone, I ended up loving it. I found that when I encountered other hikers on the trail and went with them for part of the way or hiked with friends or family that the trip was more of an external adventure for me, while when I was alone with Atticus it became all the more internal. And being alone I learned the tests were not just physical, they were also mental.

As can be seen by all the trip reports on this site, we all have our own reasons for hiking mountains, whether it is just to get away from a 9 to 5 job, raise money for a cure for cancer, give a gift to an elderly father, or simply for the views from the top, it comes down to the joy of simple things, of man and woman (and sometimes dog) and nature.

For me, each mountain was an emotional experience. One more gift to my father, who at 85 has a hard time getting excited about much. And yet with each mountain climbed I'd call him from wherever I was staying that night and tell him of my adventures and misadventures, of successes and failures, and of the views and people I met and he would listen with young and enthusiastic ears. For while I was walking all these miles, he was with me. For once, I got to carry him. Call it payback for all the years he carried me.

As I lifted Atticus up that little scramble up onto Bondcliff I could not help but feel so many emotions churn together. Suddenly we'd come face to face with the culmination of a goal. I stood atop the incredible cliff face with Atticus in hands and shaking in my legs while another hiker who just happened along snapped a few pictures. I have never been so nervous but it was worth it for the photos. (When I showed them to my Dad on Saturday he said, "Oh, my feet ache just looking at you up there." At least now I know where I got my fear of heights from.)

Then came the trudge up Mt. Bond along that magnificent trail. It was a little crowded when we got there so we didn't stay for long before it was off to West Bond and number 48. A dear friend of mine who is not into mountains or nature or the simple blissful feeling that comes from the wind in your face said to me, "What's the big deal? You get to a mountaintop and you get the same view you did from the last mountaintop?" I didn't have the appropriate words to answer her then but once atop West Bond and looking out on so many of the 48 we encountered this summer I had my answer, "How many times can you look upon the face of God?"

There was a time just about 18 months ago while carrying 300 lbs on my frame when walking the block from my local newspaper stand to my apartment would cause my back to spasm and my lungs to stress. But here I was atop West Bond and thankful that I had 11.3 miles left to go before getting back to my car. There are times when a man needs 11.3 miles to get his thoughts and feelings in order. Like all good journeys there are memories to catalogue and thanks to express.

I know this is not much of a trip report as it is a letter to each and every one of you to say thank you for inspiring this middle aged man, not so much while on each hike, but in the day-to-day from my desk when I longed to be in the mountains and couldn't be. All I had to do was log in to see what you were all doing and remind myself that I would be up there in a few days. It was great medicine. And of course I have to thank my friend Weetamoo for putting me on this course; Dave Metsky, who I have never had the pleasure of meeting but feel as though I know through his excellent website, trip reports and photos; Steve Smith, who makes every hiker, no matter how awkward or skilled, feel as if he or she is the most important person to ever walk in his store; and, of course, Atticus, who never complained about any of these mountains and overcame his fear of bridges and of stream crossings, who over the course of the spring and summer came face to face with a bear and more than one moose (he thought the Moose were big dogs and was disappointed when he couldn't play with them), and always walked with a spring in his step, even on the highest and hottest peaks.

On Saturday I stopped in at the Mountain Wanderer and bought my father that blue t-shirt and thanked Steve Smith for his weekly help and encouragement. When I drove down to my Dad's house in Medway he was sitting in the air conditioning without a shirt on, bothered by the heat. It was the first time I'd seen him without a shirt on in his old age and I realized how fragile his life is now. I showed him pictures and we talked of mountains and this fantastic summer and I felt proud to look upon the wall map of the mountains I had hung up there with those 48 gifts marked clearly.

At times like this, if you are lucky enough to have a parent live this long, you find that the roles have reversed...the father is now the child and lives through the son. My father is not emotional or expressive, but when I ducked outside for a moment and came back in, he was proudly wearing his t-shirt with the 48 peaks listed on the back, admiring himself in the mirror. And just like that the journey was over. The gift was delivered.

Upon returning to my car at 5:00 pm I thought of two things. It doesn't matter how long it takes to do the 4,000 footers, whether it is 11 years or 11 weeks, but what I found in doing them in one summer was that there was a level of intensity that brought a great purpose to it. Sam Keen once wrote that people were looking for something bigger than themselves to surrender to. This summer I found something to surrender to and in going to the woods to get lost I found more than I bargained for.

The other thing I learned, and this came late in the journey, while on top of West Bond, was that while we sometimes do things with the idea of giving to others, we get rewarded. While I set out to give my father 48 thank yous, I have received much in return.

Thank you all, again. Perhaps we will run into you in the future.