Wandering in the White Mountains.

A few years ago I never would have dreamed that this would be my version of an ideal New Year's eve: an unheated cabin with no electricity or modern conveniences and a woodstove for warmth, sitting with both strangers and friends, sipping caretaker hot toddies (whiskey and herbal tea) and talking about poop (caretakers love talking shit - literally). We ate and we drank and everyone was happy to share even after slogging 4 miles uphill with packs full of said food and booze; hikers don't believe in leftovers, they're way too heavy. It was wonderful and made me so much happier than drinking at an overpriced bar with a bunch of strangers who would fail to comprehend that occasionally my job requires me to shovel shit... and I actually enjoy it.

And you know what? The next day was even better. We had hiked up in a bit of a cloud and the forecast had mentioned the possibility of freezing rain, there was ice on the trails and no stars in our New Year's eve night sky; yet we woke up to one of the most beautiful winter mountain mornings I have ever seen, all twenty of us crammed in an old cabin that sleeps fifteen and perches on the side of a mountain right below treeline. So in spite of lack of sleep and a bit of a hangover we had to hike; there was no other option.

Clouds wrapped us and the rocks in hazy shrouds before quickly and politely drifting on so that we could continue to enjoy blue skies and sunshine and warmth. The slippery ice that had made the trail so treacherous throughout the woods vanished above treeline. The snow was packed so firm that footing was sure enough to run just for the sheer joy of it, sprinting from one curving slope between boulder piles to the next. The snow was also hard enough enough for us to do some butt sledding! As I walked I watched friends off in the distance pick their way through jumbles of rock towards the summit, black silhouettes against white snow, and I listened to the tinkling of rime ice as it fell off rocks warmed by sun, the crystalline noise of spindrift blowing across the surface of the snow, and the roar of wind as it whipped past me. I could not stop taking pictures and I could not stop smiling.

It was the best, most beautiful start to a new year that I have ever had.

Sometimes, I go for walks in the mountains...

and most of the time, these walks are uneventful. But occasionally on walks of a more epic nature I have to resort to slightly unorthodox hiking techniques... like jamming my entire body into a rock crevice. (Photos are of my friend Steph, navigating the same section where I nearly killed myself.)

Picture hands frantically clutching, each freezing-cold fingertip desperately placed into a tiny fingertip-sized divot, knees both jammed into a narrow crack; even my face was smeared against the rock, hoping to find purchase. The route that made the most sense was covered in ice. I had committed to going up; trying to go down most likely meant falling and the odds of breaking a limb or two, or at least losing several crucial layers of skin, looked pretty high. I was stuck. After fighting down a rising sense of panic I stopped looking at where I'd land if I fell and instead launched myself up and over a bulge of rock, toes frantically slipping, hoping that my feet would find purchase somewhere and that my arms had enough strength left to to propel me upwards. Knowing that if I fell it would be... well, it would be awful. That much was certain. This may sound melodramatic for a mountain that is only 3,155 feet tall, but an ugly fall is an ugly fall, regardless of how tall the mountain.

Of course, since I'm sitting here writing this entry, obviously I made it (although I suppose I could be typing from a hospital bed in traction). Gasping from both the cold, adrenaline, and the fact that we literally ran up the final slope, we reached the summit and both agreed that the only thing we wanted to do now was get off the mountain as quickly and easily as possible. Forget the photos, screw the scenic loop. Before we left though, I sucked in huge gulps of frigid air and couldn't help laughing at my numb fingertips, bloodied knees, and the wind ripping away at my frozen face. Sometimes, I can't believe how lucky I am... not at escaping injury, but for living this kind of life. This was just another day at work. For me, a bad day at the office translates to a broken leg on top of a mountain. I wouldn't have it any other way.

This is home.

I'm very happy to be here. Sometimes knowing that your stay is only temporary makes it even better. I'll be here all summer for ten days at a stretch, away from the internet, electricity and all of the other conveniences of modernity. Somewhere deep down inside, I'm breathing a sigh of relief just typing that out. It's going to be a welcome respite. Posting will be sporadic... but that's ok.