Roger and Jack flew into Boston to join me last week. Every time I get Jack to my childhood home, I pick one of my favorite memories to recreate. Swimming in Walden Pond, marching with the minutemen to Concord on Patriot's Day, and, this time, climbing Mt. Monadnock in southern New Hampshire. The last time I climbed it was before Jack was born.
We had planned to do the hike on Monday morning--the day before flying home--but we woke up to pouring rain. I'm pretty sure Roger and Jack thought I was crazy for being so determined to get us all up the mountain, which is more than an hour away from my parents' house. They were good sports anyway. We set our alarm for 6 a.m. and set out on Tuesday morning, with a strict early afternoon deadline to get back home in time to shower and pack and get to the airport. The risk paid off: we couldn't have had more perfect weather, and we made our flight with ease.
The round-trip hike is less than five miles, so it may not sound like a big deal. And the trail starts out deceptively easy.
Quickly, though, it becomes a relentless scramble up a rocky trail.
Up and up and up and up the rocky trail.
The reward, though, and what I most wanted to share with Jack, was the hard-earned and amazing view.
Of course, then we had to climb back down all the rocks we'd climbed up . . .