The Moose vs. McPolack

My Saturday hike up Moosilauke ended up being a wee bit of an adventure. After hitting the road a bit late we arrived to find an older, sinewy couple had snagged the last good parking space; when we rolled down the window to ask if they were coming or going both L and I were treated to the sight of the male's erect penis poking quite obviously through the wicking material of his shorts. ICK!

Also I ended up with poo hand but that is all I am going to say about that.

Anyhoo we put on our boots and our sunscreen and our Deet and headed out into the wilds of NH. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous day, all sun-dappled and breezy, and the tropical weather we've been having made everything super-green and Miracle-Grow lush and there were flowers blooming everywhere -- in the clover, in the trees, and along the sides of the trail. We passed some happy hikers coming down, all of whom said the summit looked great.

I lead for much of hike up; we went at a moderate pace and L and cuarentayuno kept up quite nicely. It felt every bit as good to be outside as I knew it would, and I didn't even mind all the sweating I was doing. My good mood was remarked upon by my companions.

The trail we took up Moosilauke meanders along a ridge when you're maybe 10 minutes from the top and on a clear day it is absolutely stunning. It was clear when we started out on our hike but by the time we arrived at the ledge-y section of the trail, everything was clouded over and misty. Still, I thought nothing of it and figured everything would be clear at the top. Oh, how wrong I would soon be. Not 5 minutes later, it started to rain, and not five minutes after that to pour, and then the wind started to blow the rain at us so hard it hurt.

I had apparently drunk stupid juice instead of coffee that morning because I distinctly remember thinking, A. I should put an extra long-sleeve top in my bag in case L doesn't bring one of her own and B. I should bring a trash bag in case it rains. (If you want to pack light, a trash bag can serve as a raincoat in a pinch and it weighs almost nothing.)

Of course I did neither of those things and as it continued to rain, the two friends I'd asked to hike with me and who I'd walked in front of all the way up the mountain naturally looked to me to see what we should do next. Press on, I said, although inside I was starting to get nervous about how L was going to handle a windy, rainy, clouded-in summit in her tank top and shorts. I also started to think about people dying of exposure and of how stupid I used to think those people were.

Not five minutes after we got above treeline there was an enormous clap of thunder. Oh, motherfucker, I thought. Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker. I told L and cuarentayuno to turn around and start heading for the trees RIGHTNOW and as fast as they could safely go. The problem with being on top of a treeless mountain during a thunderstorm is that you essentially are the tree and therefore the tallest thing there is and the most likely place for lightning to strike.

So L and c and I made it safely to the scrub pine and hunkered down. L is quite a bit skinnier than me so I gave her my long-sleeved top. I remained in my tank top. C took his t-shirt off and stuck it in his pack and gave me the what for for not checking the weather report. And, truth be told, I really did feel like a big idiot especially after I'd just posted on this very blog what about what a safety Susan I am about going into the woods.

Oh, but it got worse. We heard voices and who should come crashing through the pines but the two skinny minis we'd seen at the bottom, Herr Dinkus and his lady friend. HD had on a trash bag raincoat, that bastard, and his wife had on an actual raincoat. I'd brought an actual raincoat with me but left it in my car.

What followed was verrrrrrrrry embarrassing for me. Embarrassing because I worked customer service at Eastern Mountain Sports for awhile. Embarrassing because I am the sort of person who once yelled at some poor tourists who had driven up Mount Washington the day I'd hiked it; they were trampling all over the alpine flowers. Embarrassing because I have been spending time in the woods since I was five years old.

Herr Dinkus got all mountain-man with us. Do you have warm clothes? Put them on, he said. What's your plan? Are you going down the mountain? Do you want us to come with you? Why don't you crawl under the pine trees; it's drier there. Aaaaaaaaaaand so on.

Here's the thing: I did not want to admit necessarily that I was unprepared. Yet I was in fact unprepared. What I should have done before I got to the mountain was all my normal crazy packing. I should also have checked the weather and told L, who is not an experienced hiker, what she needed to bring with her.

Alas I did not and I had some harrowing moments some 4,000 feet above sea level. It was a lesson that I will not soon forget.

After a couple of minutes, Herr Dinkus left. We followed soon after. Then it stopped raining. We kept hiking down. Then the sun came out and some people passed us heading in the other direction and we turned around and headed for the top. The clouds blew away and it ended up being absolutely stunning; a lot of the top is grassy and you can see the wind as it moves through it and it's all so lovely it almost hurts.

So all's well that ends well, I suppose. Cuaretayuno got me back for singing the Neil Diamond version of Mr. Bojangles to him on the way down by breaking out with a song from Yentl and we all split a 20 piece box of tasty McNuggets and large fries on the drive home. (C also asked if I wanted to watch his nipples dance; I did not.)

When I related this story to Dr. Moo she didn't think I did such a bad job and remarked that normally I make everyone that goes hiking with me bring a gallon of water and a peanut butter sandwich. In the future they're going to have to bring a trashbag and a wool sweater, too.