Thoughts of climbing Mount Washington started when running friends talked excitedly about entering the lottery for the Mount Washington Road Race- a brutal uphill climb of 7.6 miles which, admittedly, many participants walk at least a portion of. This led Doug to comment, "If I have to walk up Mount Washington, I might as well climb it." Before he could take it back, I signed us up to join local attorney and friend Carol Perry on her annual hike to remember her late husband Paul.
Paul Perry was a state trooper, killed in a helicopter crash on February 22, 1995 at the age of 39. An avid hiker, he had a strong affinity to Mount Washington, and prophetically asked Carol to spread his ashes there if he were to pass away first. Four months after Paul’s tragic death, Carol fulfilled this sad promise much too soon, as she hiked towards Heaven surrounded by family and friends and released his ashes over the landscape he loved, beginning what is now a 16 year tradition.
I did not know Paul in life, but if the saying is true that you can judge someone’s character by the company they keep, I know Paul in spirit as a man with great love for family, friends and nature. A love returned many times, over as the hike has expanded to over 80 climbers in its 16th year, including friends of friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and the next generation of hikers, ensuring this tradition will continue even beyond our lifetimes.
We assemble at the bottom, and Paul’s good friend Ray speaks with great emotion as he pays tribute to the mountain and asks us to treat it with the respect and admiration it deserves. The same respect and admiration being paid to Paul on this day, whose spirit has become one with the awe inspiring landscape. We break into smaller groups based on goals and pace, and begin our ascent. Climbing Mount Washington is harder than I expect. There are no meandering packed dirt paths to leisurely stroll along. From the start you realize why it is lovingly referred to as "the rock pile", as you carefully navigate your feet from rock to rock, progressing to hand over hand boulder climbing during the ascent.
The analogies between climbing and life are everywhere. It speaks of difficulties made easier with the support of family and friends, pushing past our fears to achieve our goals, and forgiving ourselves when we stumble along the way. It’s a combination of enjoying the moment while planning our next move. As we climb, we learn- about ourselves and each other. We talk of things we’ve done, and things we’d like to do. We talk of others we have loved and lost, and discover we are connected in ways we never knew. A young girl I hike with shares memories of my late brother Stephen as a Little League coach, and another hiker and I share fond remembrance of our friend Danny Peterson, who lost a hard fought battle with cancer years ago. As hikers add and shed clothing layers, we chuckle to see an assortment of race shirts from Doug’s events over the years. Along the way, we learn more about Paul, in whose memory we hike, and whose spirit is felt all around us.
It’s an exhilarating experience to arrive at the top, turn around and see how far you’ve come. If only all of our achievements were so physically apparent, we’d realize how much we have accomplished in our lives. In a photo taken at the peak, I look relaxed and happy with no sign of civilization around me. In the background, the line between Heaven and earth appears blurred, as clouds hover over the tips of the mountain peaks.
Climbing back down to earth when you were that close to Heaven is difficult. There is less conversation as we spread out and hike at our own pace, and my pack seems heavier as it fills with thoughts of obligations and duties that wait at the bottom. Then I think of Carol and this closely knit group of family and friends, climbing back to their lives without Paul, talking already about visiting him again on this great mountain next year. Remembering what I learned on the mountain that day, I remind myself that life, much like hiking Mount Washington, is best lived one step at a time.
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