Monday, August 22, 2005
For those about to hike, we salute you
Last Friday, Nina and I decided to do a practice run for our hike this week. A couple of days previously I'd walked 6 miles and suffered nothing worse than slightly sore feet, so what could possibly go wrong? We planned to walk 6 miles to the cinema in the next town, where we would meet Nina's family to catch a movie.
Our plan, seemingly so simple, turned out to be hopelessly ambitious. We were only halfway to the cinema when the movie started. We lost the trail, climbing vertically up the Niagara escarpment (excellent practice for mountain hiking) and coming smack up against a fence backing onto a very rich person's garden. On the other side of the garden was the main road. Unwilling to climb back down again, and not knowing how we would find the trail anyway, we decided our only chance was to trespass.
We scrambled over the fence, desperately trying not to giggle and hoping the rich people didn't have dogs. We tippy-toed across their extensive driveway and made it to the front gate, closing it with a sigh of relief. That's when we saw the sign: “DANGER – Do Not Open. Dogs on Loose.” Thank God the rich people were on holiday (either that or the sign was bluffing).
The film trailers had already started and there was still a long way to go, but it was only along residential roads so we decided to finish what we’d begun. That’s when God decided to unleash His fury on southwestern Ontario.
As a tornado raged 100 kilometres away, Nina and I marched on through a monsoon. The horizontal rain made a laughing stock of my ‘waterproof’ jacket and rendered Nina’s umbrella useless (although that still had a purpose as a potential lightning rod). It whipped our legs sore and turned my backpack into a large (and heavy) sponge. Everything was soaked. We couldn’t have been wetter if we’d jumped into the nearest swimming pool.
As the roads turned to rivers and each driveway became a waterfall, we squelched on, flagging down passing cars in the hope that one of them, any of them, would stop. They didn’t. And just as I was beginning to get seriously worried, just as I was descending into waterlogged hopelessness and considering banging on someone’s door for help, we saw a Tim Horton’s ahead. Canada had saved us.
Once we were out of the storm, it was easy to laugh at what happened. Standing in a steadily growing puddle at the counter in Tim Horton's, ordering hot chocolate and bagels, getting stares of disbelief from everybody, it all seemed like a hilarious anecdote. We laughed even more when a member of staff picked up a ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ sign and wordlessly placed it at my feet. The crowning achievement of the day: I’d become a health and safety hazard!!
But being in the storm wasn't so funny. And at least the rain and wind were warm – what about the rain and wind in the White Mountains? What would happen if we got soaked up there? Where there were no cars to flag down, no Tim Horton’s, nobody we could call? What about Mount Washington, which has had the fastest wind speed and the lowest wind chill ever recorded? What about the 122 people who’ve died there of hypothermia? And then there’s the bears. Forget about guard dogs, what about the bears??? There are 5000 of them in New Hampshire alone!
Yet in spite of all that, and in spite of several sleepless nights imagining various ways I could stumble to my death, I still really want to trek the White Mountains. We even have a route now: the Presidential Traverse! Hiking the entire Presidential Range in one week! Eight mountains over 4000 feet! Here’s what Bill Bryson says in A Walk in the Woods:
“The White Mountains have 35 peaks higher than 3000 feet. If Ben Nevis were on the Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire, it would just squeak into the top 10. Snowdon would be swallowed without trace.”
Certainly sounds character-building. So wilderness, here we come! And, just for the record, I love all my family and friends very much, and I bequeath my worldly goods to Joe. If I don’t blog again before I go, expect an entry in the first few days of September. If there isn’t one, it means Gentle Ben has had me for supper.
Our plan, seemingly so simple, turned out to be hopelessly ambitious. We were only halfway to the cinema when the movie started. We lost the trail, climbing vertically up the Niagara escarpment (excellent practice for mountain hiking) and coming smack up against a fence backing onto a very rich person's garden. On the other side of the garden was the main road. Unwilling to climb back down again, and not knowing how we would find the trail anyway, we decided our only chance was to trespass.
We scrambled over the fence, desperately trying not to giggle and hoping the rich people didn't have dogs. We tippy-toed across their extensive driveway and made it to the front gate, closing it with a sigh of relief. That's when we saw the sign: “DANGER – Do Not Open. Dogs on Loose.” Thank God the rich people were on holiday (either that or the sign was bluffing).
The film trailers had already started and there was still a long way to go, but it was only along residential roads so we decided to finish what we’d begun. That’s when God decided to unleash His fury on southwestern Ontario.
As a tornado raged 100 kilometres away, Nina and I marched on through a monsoon. The horizontal rain made a laughing stock of my ‘waterproof’ jacket and rendered Nina’s umbrella useless (although that still had a purpose as a potential lightning rod). It whipped our legs sore and turned my backpack into a large (and heavy) sponge. Everything was soaked. We couldn’t have been wetter if we’d jumped into the nearest swimming pool.
As the roads turned to rivers and each driveway became a waterfall, we squelched on, flagging down passing cars in the hope that one of them, any of them, would stop. They didn’t. And just as I was beginning to get seriously worried, just as I was descending into waterlogged hopelessness and considering banging on someone’s door for help, we saw a Tim Horton’s ahead. Canada had saved us.
Once we were out of the storm, it was easy to laugh at what happened. Standing in a steadily growing puddle at the counter in Tim Horton's, ordering hot chocolate and bagels, getting stares of disbelief from everybody, it all seemed like a hilarious anecdote. We laughed even more when a member of staff picked up a ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ sign and wordlessly placed it at my feet. The crowning achievement of the day: I’d become a health and safety hazard!!
But being in the storm wasn't so funny. And at least the rain and wind were warm – what about the rain and wind in the White Mountains? What would happen if we got soaked up there? Where there were no cars to flag down, no Tim Horton’s, nobody we could call? What about Mount Washington, which has had the fastest wind speed and the lowest wind chill ever recorded? What about the 122 people who’ve died there of hypothermia? And then there’s the bears. Forget about guard dogs, what about the bears??? There are 5000 of them in New Hampshire alone!
Yet in spite of all that, and in spite of several sleepless nights imagining various ways I could stumble to my death, I still really want to trek the White Mountains. We even have a route now: the Presidential Traverse! Hiking the entire Presidential Range in one week! Eight mountains over 4000 feet! Here’s what Bill Bryson says in A Walk in the Woods:
“The White Mountains have 35 peaks higher than 3000 feet. If Ben Nevis were on the Appalachian Trail in New Hampshire, it would just squeak into the top 10. Snowdon would be swallowed without trace.”
Certainly sounds character-building. So wilderness, here we come! And, just for the record, I love all my family and friends very much, and I bequeath my worldly goods to Joe. If I don’t blog again before I go, expect an entry in the first few days of September. If there isn’t one, it means Gentle Ben has had me for supper.
