Mt. Adams, Take 2 by Fran

A few days ago I received a  most welcome phone call from someone I last talked to 50 years ago.   It was Fran Ansley who had been a student at Putney School, class of 1964.  She and her classmates were getting ready for their 50th reunion and she recalled the winter ascent of Mt. Adams (see my post of July 8, 1913, "Winter in the White Mountains") as well as a trip I took with Putney students in Fall, 1963.   Fran is a terrific writer who regularly wrote detailed descriptions to her family just after the trips were completed.   With Fran's permission I am posting her description of that fall trip.

Jun 19 at 10:00 AM

Long Fall 1963 -- Presidential Range -- Mt. Jefferson and Mt. Adams

Dear Family,

The Long Fall trip was really wonderful.  We left on Friday morning in a truck with one other tripful of people, who we dropped off on the way.  It was a good truck ride … lots of singing and joke telling, and not too cold.  We had lunch on the way.  People were crammed in.  It seemed like everyone must have had four feet.  Boots were jabbing everywhere.

Finally (that is, seven hours later), we got to Bowman, New Hampshire, where our trail started.  It is in the northern end of the Presidential Range.  We all piled out, put on our packs and started off with a chill in our bones because there was snow on the ridge.

The climb was pretty stiff, but I never reached that horrible point of not believing I could go on.  It was lovely to hike this time of year, because the path (which frustratingly consumes so much of one’s attention) is starred with leaves -- curly red and yellow. 

By sunset, we were just below timberline and reached our shelter -- three-sided plus a fireplace -- “The Perch” -- It is literally perched on the side of a ravine on the shoulders of Jefferson and Adams.

We had “gloosh,” that Bill Melvin specialty.  And we SANG.  Bill is the best tenor in madrigals, has perfect pitch and a really fine voice.  So he always has lots of singing.  We learned many new rounds, and several people brought madrigal books, so we sang those too.

Then we all jammed into the shelter.  The guidebook said the Perch holds eight.  We fit in 14.  Everyone had to lie on his side, and when anyone laughed, the whole line of diaphragms jiggled, from one end of the girls’ section, through Bill (the Mason-Dixon line), and on through the boys.  There was no alternative, though, because it was quite cold.  We had already hit some snow, and every tree was covered in a thin coat of lovely ice.  (One bit of trip-bragging:  we put a can of water on the fire to heat.  It had been on a little while, and somebody put in his finger to test it.   “Uh-oh, some sticks have fallen in.”  So we shone a flashlight into the can so we could fish out these sticks, and it turned out to be ICE!)  Anyway, the crowded conditions kept us warm.

Next morning we got up for breakfast (hot Wheatena and bacon), and leaving our packs at the shelter, we walked up to the top of the ridge to Edwards Col (a little dip in a ridge).  It was just incredibly beautiful.  We hit first an evergreeny section just below timberline -- with mossy floor, and dead trunks.  This was virgin forest.  They were all covered with fairyland snow and rime.  Then we got above timberline.  All the rocks had icicles coming horizontally from the off-wind side, and each blade of grass was sheathed in brilliant, glowing ice.  But the most amazing thing was looking through winter on the top into fall blazing below us in the valley.

After a rest and some singing at the col, we went on up Mt. Jefferson, took a close look at Mt. Washington and the southern peaks, decided against continuing on to Mt. Washington because of its commercialization, and came on back to the col for lunch.  Then we walked up Mt. Adams, the second highest peak in the White Mountains, and on the other side of Edwards Col -- the wind there was terrific.  (Estimates non-exaggerated at forty mph.)  You could lean against it with all your weight.

We sang there too, for almost half an hour, met another Putney trip that was going from the Great Gulf to Crag Camp (such alliteration!), then headed back down to the Perch.  With no packs, it was great.  I felt I could have walked all day with no strain at all.

That night was more singing, recorder playing, Bill shaggy-dog stories, secret birthday-cake fixings, etc.  It was much warmer.  (The peanut butter would spread, our boots didn’t freeze during the night, the hamburger was soft, etc.), so several people slept a les belles étoiles, and we had more room.

Sunday morning then we had the legendary Melvin apple dumplings and were on our way -- down the Israel Ridge Trail -- very rocky and steep and fun and murder on the knees.  That ran into the Castle Ravine Trail which follows a wonderful N.H. stream down into the valley.  Finally about 10:00, we were all hot and tired and sweaty, and Bill said, “OK.  Boys on this side of the bend, girls on that.  You’ve got five minutes for a skinny dip.”  Ohhhh man.  It was so cold and so good and a perfect thing to happen.

An hour after that, we were back at the truck and ready to start back to school.

I loved the trip as much as you can see I did … because of the physical things, but more important because of the spirit of it.  Bill Melvin simply has a gift for leading trips. Of course, it was the people on it too.  Bill never picks a clique for his trips, but manages to make wonderful and weird combinations.  You all end up loving each other. Anyway, obviously it was great. 

Existing vs. Living: The Senior Challenge

When I retired in 2005, I was keenly aware of the warnings I had heard: plan ahead, know what you will do with your time. So I took a short course in teaching ESL, formed a group with some of my classmates ("ESL Volunteers of Northern Virginia") and started teaching.  I taught Mondays and Wednesdays at the Herndon Workers Center (since closed) and Saturdays at the Herndon Neighborhood Resource Center.  On Tuesdays I volunteered at the Embry Ruckler shelter for homeless people. For seven years I felt fulfilled, thankful that I was getting to know so many wonderful people, many of whom (though we never asked) were probably so-called "undocumented immigrants."  By chance, three of our students lived right next door. Sometimes when I met some of the homeless people at the library, I was the grateful recipient of generous bear hugs.   These people were great!

In 2012 I finally had to acknowledge that I physically couldn't continue.   For one things, I was the front desk person at Embry Rucker, whose duties were answering the phone and interacting with the residents.  My hearing was such that I sometimes couldn't understand what people were saying on the phone.   People would say, "Put somebody on the line who can hear!"  So I regretfully resigned from Embry Rucker and ESL Teaching. I settled into a routine: wake up at 6:30, read the paper in bed and have coffee until 7:30, go to the gym for an hour, return home, shower, dress, have breakfast and take a nap.  The remainder of the day I spent checking email, my bank account and Facebook, and reading.   Not a very inspiring schedule. When Qenehelo, my wife, came home from work at 5:45, I'd  complain, "I'm just existing!"

So what to do?  I remembered a sermon my friend and pastor, Rob Merola, gave during Lent.   Rob recalled that Jesus had been in the wilderness and had not eaten for 40 days when Satan came and tempted him: "If you be the son of God, command that these stones be turned into loaves of bread."   The reply was important: Man does not live by bread alone."   In terms of this post: we are not here just to exist.

So I joined the Herndon Senior Center with daily activities and lots of very old members.  (I exempt from this challenge, by the way, people suffering from dementia.   We need to comfort and  love these people who through no fault of their own can no longer carry on the daily activities of life.)  For the rest of us: consider Rob's answer to the question of meaning: "Love and be loved."  It's something all of us can do.  None of us exists in a vacuum.   In my case, I have my immediate family: my dear wife Qenehelo with whom I have been together for 33 years, my son, Thabie, a wonderful piano teacher, and my kind and caring daughter Palesa who sometimes frets over all the preparations of her forthcoming wedding.   Then there are my friends at the gym where I go every morning, my friends at the senior center, many of whom are physically diminished, and my fellow parishioners at church..As I reflect on this truism, "Love and be loved," I realize that the senior dilemma is everybody's existential question: How can I make my life meaningful?