New Years Day, a Hiking Complex

At its root, hiking is simple. You learn the basic skill for hiking—walking— in your first year or so of life. But at its best, when it is done right hiking is beautifully complex. Physical exhaustion, mental reward, danger, spiritual gain; I find all and more on my best hikes. New Year's Day was one-such hike

Undercast clouds pour over the Southern Presidential Peaks. New Years Day 2012. From the Gulfside Trail.

We started before sunrise. And finished after sunset. We spent 12 hours on our feet and managed little more than a stagger for the final flat mile. The route wasn't heroic and our pace wasn't worthy of a stopwatch, but neither were our goals. We wanted a good, a solid, hike. A nice walk.

Sinking waste deep into a snowdrift, my first step above tree line didn't go well. Two quick and easy miles before sunrise, with little more than a dusting of snow underfoot, had made a bit complacent. The forecast—mild temperatures, light winds and a clear sky—couldn't have been better, but as I hauled myself free of the drift, looked up and saw the gray inside of a cloud covering the rocks and snow that supposedly led to the summit of Mt. Washington, I was reminded of how little forecasts can mean up here.

Fortunately for us, where we headed was soon above the clouds and the sun soon followed us, rising into the blue bird morning from the fog that filled the valleys with a blanket that stretched to the horizon. The first sunrise of the New Year will be a tough act to follow.

Stacey enjoying the view on Mt. Washington's Boot Spur just after sunrise.

We climbed Mt. Washington's summit cone like a spiral staircase, wrapping our way from the rim of Tuckerman's Ravine up and around to the Crawford Path and marching rhythmically onto the summit, home of the "World's Worst Weather" and world-record winds. We sat down with our dogs and had a snack. Stacey couldn't have asked for a better day—tame weather, no crowds, no cars and no train—for her first trip to the summit of Mt. Washington, but I looking more forward to showing her the ranges real, more wild peaks, Jefferson and Adams.

First, the bliss hit. After leaving the summit, on the Northern snowfields of Mt. Washington, Espresso and Charlotte, having apparently expended no energy thus far, frolicked. Sprinting amongst the snowdrifts, they played, and barked, and otherwise unleashed the inner puppy they both so seldom show in their doggy-years old age. Above all else, we hike for fun. And while Stacey and I are strict with our pups when hiking, keeping our pack tight both for safety and out of respect for the hills, this time we couldn't help but just smile and let them play because to play, in such a rugged, unforgiving, often harsh and treacherous place, is a privilege, and they earned it.

Stepping over the iced over tracks of the Cog Railroad, we got back to business. Soon, we were clipping ropes to each dog and white knuckling our way along the rim of the Great Gulf, peering down into the abyss as we hiked the short section of trail that runs closest to the drop.Once we hit the slopes of Mt. Clay, the clouds, which had been undercast in the valleys below, began to blow up and over us, reducing our world to a small bubble of rocks and snow that blurred into a dense fog. Its inevitable that such a change in the weather, pristine blue sky to nothing but gray, will put you slightly on edge, but we confidently trudged onward.

Stacey in the fog, after robing Espresso's bandana to shield her face from the wind.

We headed back above the clouds and into the clear over the summit of Jefferson, through Edmands Col and along the slopes of Mt. Sam Adams. But by the time we hit Thunderstorm Junction, with darkness an hour or so away, there was a decision to be made about summating Adam. Do we climb it, or skirt around it and head down? Up we went. The wind had increased, gusting enough to knock us off balance on our rubbery legs. It was getting colder. And we were tired. And we were out of water. We were clearly pushing our luck on what had so far been a near perfect hike.

We hit the summit of Adams and looked over the other side. A wall of clouds raced up at us from the valley below. In an instant, the view was gone. Rocks, snow and clouds. I know Mt. Adam's well and I've managed to lose my way leaving its summit on more than one occasion. We had a map and compass, but orienteering in such a situation... well, it wouldn't be fun. Fortunately, there were faint crampon markings in the wind-packed snow. They zigzagged between the rocks and led from cairn to cairn. Soon, we were below the clouds, and not long after we dropped into the col between Mt. Adams and Madison—as close to home as I can get in the mountains. We passed the hut and headed down Valley way. Four miles to go. In the dark, we staggered to the truck.

Stacey braving the elements.

There is work to be done on a hike. Navigation. Safety. Basic responsibility. You need to keep your guard slightly raised, especially in winter. But a good hike has so many isolated moments. There's time for casual chit-chat, serious discussion and witty nonsense. There is room for Quakerly periods with no discussion at all. Just you, the mountains and your thoughts. Personal time. We had 12 hours free of any other distractions and we made the most of it.

Happy New Year.