Today’s weather being superlative, we could not resist sneaking up to the White Mountains for a day hike, even though we should have really stayed at home and taken CONTROL of our LIVES in the wake of the Peruvian vacation.
It was a science experiment, really, to see if any residual effects of hiking in high altitudes would bestow extraordinary cardiovascular abilities. And indeed, as we made our way up the infamously tough Beaver Brook Trail at Mount Moosilauke, we easily bounded past much younger, fitter-looking hikers who were confined by the amount of oxygen that their hemoglobin could process. They looked crestfallen as they stopped to catch their breath while these two oldies strode past them, talking and laughing with all their excess breath. I wanted to reassure them that, had we not just returned from hiking in Peru, we too would be madly aspiring.
The book time to the top of Mount Moosilauke via Beaver Brook: 3 hours and 25 minutes for 3.8 miles and 3100 feet of elevation gain. It took us 2 hours. Scary. “We are GODS,” I muttered to Mr. P as we veritably skipped to the summit.
At the summit, some patriotic soul had strapped up an American flag, presumably to commemorate Sept 11. A nice touch, although if you ask me, the seemingly endless views of Moosilauke don’t need adornment.
“Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades: shoemakers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers, a monster watch; and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the mountains of New Hampshire, God Almighty has hung out a sign to show.” — Daniel Webster
(With all due respect to the White Mountains and Daniel Webster, he obviously never saw the Andes.)
American Flag on Moosilauke Summit
Anywhere I Lay My Head
