Up

S
ince I frequently encountered this question when my five-year-old daughter, Alex, and I began climbing grown-up-size mountains, addressing it seems a fitting way to begin this account of our journey together on the trails.

The idea of hiking up all forty-eight of New Hampshire's tallest mountains started out as a casual, almost accidental lark. My daughter has been a boundless bundle of energy since birth, and I thought hiking a big mountain might prove an enjoyable occupation for us to try. I never anticipated how far we would go, nor did I anticipate how unusual our activity would strike others. At the time, I thought it would be a fun mother-daughter bonding experience and an opportunity to enjoy the riches of New Hampshire's glorious natural landscapes. I certainly had no lofty pretentions about finishing the entire list of mountains in a short amount
of time, nor did I foresee that the experience might teach her to follow her own path instead of listening to societal expectations.

As with any journey worth its salt, I came away from the trail not only treasuring the moments, the sweat, and the occasional miracle, but also taking with me some important lessons. For my daughter, I hope this
experience will leave an indelible mark in her young heart, forever there to remind her that small doesn't necessarily mean weak, that girls can be strong, and that big, bold things are possible.

It was Alex who asked me to write this book. She hopes that by sharing our stories, others will experience the exhilaration of the trail. I hope the book serves as a reminder not just to Alex as she grows, but to all of us, that if you want to do something big, something daring and grand and huge, then don't automatically shrug and assume that you're too young, too old, too weak, too busy, too poor, too frazzled, or too small. Learn, persevere, sweat. Take the time to figure out how to do it correctly, then go to it with a giant spirit of adventure and enjoy the climb.

—Patricia Ellis Herr, July 2011

Freak Thunderstorm on Mount Tom, August 16, 2008

M
ama!” Five-year-old Alex screams to be heard over the furious storm as we crouch among the scrub near the summit of 4,003-foot Mount Tom. My ears are full of the howling wind, so though Alex crouches immediately to my right, I can barely make out her words. Even her face is obscured by the weather. The ends of her shoulder-length blonde hair fly onto her pale cheeks and into her eyes and mouth; her face is covered by dancing yellow wisps. Sage, Alex's three-year-old sister and spitting image, crouches to my left and looks intently up at my face. Her wide green eyes study my expression, looking for a clue as to how frightened she should feel.

We are 3,900 feet above sea level and in the middle of New Hampshire's White Mountains. Directly across the street lies the Presidential Range, a chain of peaks that includes Mount Washington, the highest
mountain in the American Northeast and home to what the Mount Washington Observatory describes as the world's worst weather. Three storm systems converge directly over this region, making the weather subject to unpredictable variation. Even during the summer, a hiker can experience dense fog, hurricane-force winds, and temperatures hovering near the freezing point.

The morning of our adventure, the forecast had called for clear morning skies and possible afternoon thunderstorms. We had set out early, thinking we'd be back at the car well before the arrival of threatening clouds. However, true to the spontaneous nature of the Whites, an electrical tempest had formed three hours before any nasty weather was supposed to show up. Later, folks at the Mount Washington Observatory informed me that this storm didn't appear on their radar system. It gave no advance warning. It literally birthed itself right over Mount Tom. Lucky us.

“Are you scared, Mama?” Alex hollers. She too is searching for information. Should she worry? How bad is this situation? Both of my children are accustomed to hearing me speak the truth, and they look to me for guidance.