Man Vs Mountain (Not a Fair Fight)
Nothing happens to anybody which he is not fitted by nature to bear. ~Marcus Aurelius
Under normal circumstances I have to practically whip myself into a frenzy in order to go running. There are always more comfortable things to do, and the couch starts looking like paradise to me when I get home from work. But I can usually work up the motivation to do so, because running may have saved my life. My good friend Jay and I decided to embark on an all-day trail run in the mountains of northern New Hampshire. Jay, a Marine, and a 6’3”, 225-pound one, at that, is an experienced outdoorsman and athlete, and can move very fast, even though, to quote him, he’s “a lot of man to move.” Feeling sure of ourselves even in abject wilderness, we parked the car at 7 AM and began the run that, four miles later, would lead to the base of our destination: Mount Isolation. Whoever named Mount Isolation, named it well. The mountain cannot even be reached except on foot. But it offers some of the most breathtaking views anywhere. One of the most famous mountains in New England, and also one of the highest, Mount Washington, is situated south of Mount Isolation, and from Mt. Isolation’s peak you get a lovely view of the back side of Mount Washington. Mountain running is fun, provided you watch your step. If you happen to be miles from any road, it could be a painful journey home. So I was being very careful not to roll an ankle as I struggled to keep pace with my athletic counterpart, Jay. But rather than worry about injuring myself, I suppose I ought to have paid more attention to the planning of the run. I figured myself to be a pretty good map reader. I’d been trained in how to do it, had lots of experience, and frankly was a bit overconfident in that regard. I got careless. In planning our route, I estimated that we’d be covering a total of about 10 miles. Starting out at seven in the morning, we ought to have had plenty of time to make it up the eastern slope of Mount Isolation, double back, and make it back to Jay’s pickup truck before sundown. The problem was this: we were dazzled by the sublime beauty of the mountain. Once we began the ascent of the eastern slope of the mountain, we rose above the green-forested landscape, admired the lakes dotting the horizon, the rocky outcroppings of neighboring mountains. And when we reached the summit, we were surrounded by splintered, blasted trees, uprooted and shattered. A powerful ice storm had hit New Hampshire in 1998, and this being the spring afterward, it was the first we’d seen of the destruction of the trees. It was beautiful and terrible. So caught up in the scenery were we, that it wasn’t until the sun was beginning to drop as we stood on the western edge of the ridge or Mt. Isolation, that Timmins turned to me and asked, “Did you bring a flashlight?” Gulp. I did not. In fact, upon closer inspection of the map, Jay showed me that whereas I’d planned our route based on the assumption that each grid square equaled a mile, the map legend read that each square actually equaled one and one half miles. So we’d actually come seven and a half miles already, and we’d have another seven and a half to cover before we reached the safety and comfort of our truck. I did have a cell phone, but I was determined to not show up befuddled and worn on the nightly news, having to be picked up by helicopter because of irresponsible planning, arrogance, and ignorance. We began our run back, the sun dropping before we even reached the eastern edge of Mt. Isolation’s ridge. I was full of fear, but what a sight. There aren’t many better ways to feel the raw, savage beauty of nature, than to be stranded on a New Hampshire mountaintop at night, the stars scattered above your head like they’d been carelessly spilled from a cup across the cold black. I was thankful for one thing: I’d been running three or four days a week for several years, and, while I was no marathon runner, I had decent wind. But the mountain air at night was cold, and my lungs burned from the icy air. Jay must have been part cat, because he could see unnervingly well at night. Several times I thought we’d lost the trail, and questioned him, but he just kept plodding on, one big foot in front of the other, down the eastern slope of Mount Isolation. We had to run considerably more slowly in the dark, and there were noises crashing through the woods not far from us that I still don’t like to think about too much. But fighting off the fear that night in the dark, I kept on running. Finally, at about 2 AM, we came upon a clearing, and in that clearing Jay’s truck was parked. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to have a pickup truck for a bed. I was just happy to have made it off the mountain, sweat-drenched and cold though I was. Jay graciously insisted I sleep in the cab, and he slept in the truck’s bed. There’s a Marine for you; tough as anything. As I drifted to sleep that night I was haunted by the awful, cold sublimity of the mountain at night. Even now as I think of it, the memory of that chill, blasted landscape haunts me, beckons me, to get out there and measure myself against nature. ~Ron Kaiser, Jr.