This was not a day hike.
Maybe some of you understand... my mother-in-law just says dismissively:
“You’re nuts.”
Why do it? Because I knew it would be hard... Not a lot of folks do it and I wanted to know if I could actually pull it off.
Proud to have done it, however, humbled to say the least...
My Buddy Jon’s passion for it was the catalyst. He’d been talking about his hikes for as long as I’ve known him and he asked me if I wanted to do an overnight winter hike with him. We had done a day hike last summer and I said sure, I always wanted to do it (plus I kept up better than just fine in the day hike). I’m here to say now, a day hike IS NOT A 28 mile, two day hike with a 35lb+ pack on with freshly fallen snow.
After leaving my house on 3 hours of sleep and a good dose of Boston AM traffic, I met Jon and we made the drive to the White Mountains. We started the 4 mile trek to the base of Mt. Hale and by the time we got there I had a feeling this might be a little more than I planned for. That said, I was excited that I remembered to turn on my Apple Watch. For no other reason that I could get my rings and kick my sister’s ass in the weekly challenge we’re in.
Almost as soon as we started to ascend the 4,000 footer, I was in a complete flop sweat. I looked down at my watch and was somewhat startled to see my heart rate bumping over 181BPM. I let Jon and his dog Besse, go ahead of me. I had to put any ego aside and make sure I didn't burn out on the first leg. About 3/4 of a mile from summit, I felt the first blister develop. Around 400’ from the summit I had to stop. I was really struggling. Moreover, I felt an unfamiliar and somewhat overwhelming wave of despair. “I can’t do it”, I thought to myself. This was only the first couple of miles. How could I go down like this? All I could think about was how much we still had to go and that whatever was going on with my feet was not going to look good when I took the socks off. As I stood, I knew... I could not cave. Not because of Jon, not because of any machismo involved but, that was just not how we do it.... The “we” know who you are... So I started searching my memories for what has pushed me through difficult periods in the past.
The first thing that came to mind was a video a dear friend showed me and my team some years ago about the Sherpas that shepherd climbers in the Himalayas (I know, not even remotely close to the bump I’m trying to get up). They spoke of the deep crevasses that the climbers would cross on long ladders. They say when they looked down, they would be overwhelmed and freeze. Their advice has followed me for years and boy did I call on it here. “When looking down into the crevasse, do not focus on the depth below, focus on the rungs of the ladder and move forward.”
From here out, there could be no more wasted reverie of the summit, just the next step. The mantra started with a simple 1-2, 1-2, 1-2. After a few hundred of them, my mind kept thinking of my kids and my phrase suddenly became, “just keep swimming... just keep swimming...”.
With a little thanks to Nemo and Dory we made Zealand Hut were we stopped, rested and I got to take my boots off. There we met Jeremy, the caretaker for the week who gave me some advice on what to do with the hot spots on my feet and hooked us up with water. When Jon told Jeremy that “we” planned to hike to Guyot Hut, he gave us a raised eyebrow. He turned and looked up the steep rise in grade from the window and expressed understanding. He acknowledged the good weather and the full moon. I thought of punching Jeremy in the throat. I’d be full of shit if I didn’t say I was silently expecting his raised eyebrow was a sign he’d recommend a night in the hut with the wood-stove.
Jon asked me if I had any other thoughts and I just shook it off and “we” made the call and were off to Guyot shelter. No way I wasn’t going to rise to the bell and grind it out - if this is how it is done. Jon was an experienced guy and I ultimately trusted his lead and I, in the sequel, expected to find the gas I needed.
The next 7-8 miles were profound. I have run sprint triathlons and dozens of 10Ks but ascending two mountain peaks after the first nine hours would test reserves I had never touched prior.
Although, it could be just the small fact that I got right up against my own mortality, but, for some weird reason that 7-8 mile hike under the moonlight moved me. Not too long after starting the second ascent, I bitched and wined to myself that this is impossible, then, I started to think of all the gritty lines I’ve been feeding the people I’ve worked with... “Read Jocko Wilnik”, I’d say or even closer to home was thoughts of the younger kid that I had the chance to coach in football, also a Navy Seal and someone I respected immensely, Kevin Huston. Kevin was killed in action during a mission in the Wardak province of Afghanistan. I was actually kvetching to myself about being tired and that my feet hurt. A few minutes with those thoughts is all it took for the pity party to end.
At 7:30 we hit the summit at Zealand. Then, the plan was to tag the summit at Guyot, then find the trail to the shelter. Sometime around 9:00 we ventured past the krumolds, walking straight at Orion’s belt with Venus sparkling to the right and the moon as luminescent as the pre-dawn light while we broke past the tree line. The wind was blowing strong and it quickly became the kind of cold that helps you remember stories of people who found trouble while hiking. I understood that this was one of those times that if something went wrong, it would all go wrong. I thought of my family, my friends, how great God is and how grateful I am for my wife and my two boys.
Jon yelled to me, “Hurry up!” as he stood in the middle of the desolate, frozen ice pack, freezing his ass off. I shot back, “Next time wait before you go past the trees!” but still I double timed it to where he and Besse waited. Thankfully, we found the Cairns set by previous hikers that lead us off the mountain top and back below the tree line.
At this point you’ve learned.... “Cotton kills” and with this cold you understand why it is said. You’ve also learned, if you fall off the monorail, you are gonna post hole up to your ass... nothing zaps your energy like falling off the packed trail, then having to pick one leg 4-5’ out of the snow. Feeling seasoned and a bit salty, I was eager for us to land at the shelter. It has recently been rebuilt and all the hikers I’d met in the meantime talked like it was an outdoor Ritz Carlton. We hiked at least a mile past where it should have been. So, we hiked at least a mile and a quarter back. Then, we did it again. Long story - short. We couldn’t find it after way more - extra hiking than I thought we had in us. I took the lead back from Jon for a short moment, “Jon!” We gotta make camp now!”... He agreed and we found a spot to settle down for the night.
“Amateurs pack too much gear.” Earlier, Jon asked, “why the hell did you bring a saw?” After I finished cutting spruce branches to pile up on the seven feet of snow that we were about to sleep on... I didn’t hear too many jabs about having a saw. Jon boiled water and we made our dehydrated meals and both filled our water bottles with hot water for the sleeping bags. Jon laid down and called for Bess. The great hiking dog she is, promptly responded and jumped right into the bag to provide immediate warmth... The new guy preceded to freeze his ass off. That is of course until I put the greatest Christmas regift EVER to use. My awesome mom, once again saves the day with the heated jacket she didn’t really want for Christmas. Mom always comes through! I wrapped my frozen feet with a puff Patagonia stuffed with a hot water bottle and hand warmers and laid the heated jacket over my midsection set to low heat. It was now 1:00am and it was finally time to get some sleep and that trusty jacket threw 5 hours of solid heat. I woke just after sunrise warm with a FROZEN sleeping bag above the jacket on the interior. Needless to say it would have been a far different experience without the battery powered apparel.
I told Jon to sit tight while I packed. I wasn’t ready to just take off and needed to get myself ready for the next 10 miles with the most painful feet of my life.
An apple, some nuts and we were off on the ten plus mile decent. Any fear was now somewhat removed and what remained was just the knowledge that it would take time and I must endure. Once we reached the base of Mount Hale, we began what I referred to in my head as the Bataan death march. We covered the grueling 3.5 miles to the main road, out of water and out of snacks. As the roads came in sight, I realized how close I was to muscle failure. I have done pushups to failure, squats and curls but never have I walked to failure.
I was miserable, fatigued and my pride was a little hurt. As we drove away from the mountain in Jon’s big diesel truck, I felt proud of what the two of us had just accomplished. And it made all the difference.
