Family Hike #6: Welch-Dickey Loop, New Hampshire

Hike #22: Welch-Dickey Loop

Elevation: 2,605 (Welch Mountain) and 2,734 (Dickey Mountain)           

Date: July 11, 2015

Location: Thornton, NH

Distance: 4.5 miles

Time: 4:24 (58:40/mile)

I’d like to think I’m a good dad: I promote reading, creativity, physical activities. I have my special foods such as omelets and grilled cheeses that are as good as any chef could make. A few years ago, I even turned a rainy day into Spa Day, although the girls established that no amount of make-up can make me beautiful. And, of course, I worry that I’m constantly getting things wrong, which will inevitably lead to their therapy to come to grips with my mistakes (“Dad!  How could you tell us that swallowing apple seeds would cause us to poo crabapples in the Fall?!?!”).

We headed out for another training hike in mid-July, in advance of our three-day, hut-to-hut hike in New Hampshire’s White Mountains over Labor Day Weekend. We’d purchased hiking boots for the girls and this was a second chance to break them in. The Welch-Dickey Loop is a 4.5-mile trail that is renowned for its views, and would offer the girls their first chance to hit two summits in a single hike. It is also a good hike for families. Allegedly.

She's either learning about delicate ecosystems
or finding an excuse to not hike.

Everyone was dressed appropriately, with plenty of water and food in their packs as we set out from the trailhead. The weather was beautiful but steamy, and later in the morning than I preferred. I quickly learned that the weather would dominate the hike.

Only a few hundred yards into the hike, I sensed that something was wrong with my older daughter. I suspected that if I were reading her right, she’d cry if I asked directly. Do I ask? Do I silently nudge her along? Do I stop and turn back and let the other two go on? I agonized in my head for a moment before probing. Sure enough, she broke down. She didn’t feel well, which I concluded was due to over-exertion and under-hydration the prior couple of (hot) days, so she was starting this hike at a deficit and the heat and humidity were quickly getting to her. The tears were partly because of how she felt, and partly out of frustration.

We didn’t quit the hike. Sara and my youngest daughter paired off for a bit while I coached my oldest to keep hydrating and showed her how she can soak her bandana in the nearby stream to cool off her neck. We continued on until we arrived at the first clearing, partway up Welch Mountain. Some brownies and water helped refresh a little before soldiering on.

Is it a lesson in disco or geography?

The trail continued steeply up open rock, under bright sun, with temperatures now well into the 80’s. The girls persevered but it took real effort. Reaching the summit of Welch Mountain wasn’t glorious; it was a relief. We found a secluded spot and rested. I noticed my oldest was again shedding some tears. She nestled her head on Sara’s lap and covered her face with the wet bandana, under the pretense of hiding from the sun beating down on us. Since her tears were silent and she laughed occasionally, we grown-ups pretended to not notice. We also eventually pushed the girls on, seeking a chance to get back under the tree canopy.

I proudly watched the girls faced their
fears on a challenging descent!

We were immediately faced with an intimidating descent in the saddle between Welch and Dickey. Scared, the girls still moved forward, scooting on their behinds through part of it, careful to avoid a steep drop-off on one side. The canopy was nowhere to be found, so we continued to cook as we moved to the summit of Dickey Mountain. We continued along a ridgeline for a while before coming out on a big expanse of cliff overlooking much of the loop we’d traversed. Then, finally, blessedly, we descended below tree line and after what seemed like forever, we emerged back at the parking lot.

I watched the girls closely much of the time, and when one had a water bottle with funky water, I gave my own to keep her going. I prompted refueling periodically, sometimes with brownies. But I kept pushing them. Tears have a way of making me question my actions. But, upon hitting the second summit and even over the next hour of mostly still being in the open, I noticed my oldest slowly but increasingly bounce back. She even became outgoing and animated for the first time even though we were over three hours into the hike, showing an ability to endure.

On the summit of Dicket, with Welch behind us.
"Quick, girls - pretend you're happy and smile!"

We dined at a restaurant and they earned the right to eat whatever they wanted. This was not billed as a tough hike, but the weather truly challenged us. Yet, I watched one who normally lags push herself, maintaining a much better pace than she normally does while remaining upbeat. Her commitment to dance and basketball and her increased physicality paid off in a way not previously seen, not to mention taking the lead over her sister near several cliffs. I watched another who can shy away from risks and challenges push herself as well. Seeing her grow stronger over the course of the hike, and push through her fears near very steep spots, allowed me chances to point out her successes, hopefully giving her more belief in herself.

One daughter bravely venturing onto a cliff

Actually, all of these hikes aren’t just about family bonding that the kids would be happy to skip. They’re opportunities for the girls take on very real and increasing challenges and equally real successes. It’s also about equipping them with the skills to navigate when outside their comfort zones. Pictures with them bravely (and timidly) standing on the edge of a cliff with a steep drop-off, or with the first summit in the background, aren’t just capturing family moments. They’re also trophies earned through perseverance. My Man Code requires that I be emotionally stunted and bury the few feelings I still feel. But it was poignant to watch them dig deep and offer up an achievement worthy of pride, and to laugh in the process. I am still as utterly confident I’ll screw something up in the near future as I am that science teachers would disapprove of my “teaching” the girls that oceans taste salty because of all of the fish pee. For this hike, however, it felt as if it weren’t just a demonstration of the kids’ triumphs, but also a great parenting moment.

Sibling humor - a sign of doing more than just surviving the hike!

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

Family Hike #5: Great Island, Wellfleet, Massachusetts

Hike #21: Great Island

Elevation: Not much

Date: July 3, 2015

Location: Wellfleet, Cape Cod, MA

Distance: 6.7 miles

Time: 3:55 (35:04/mile)

 

When I think of a vacation on Cape Cod, I think of relaxing in a beach chair and playing in the water. But with a week at the Cape, we wanted to enjoy such times and also mix things up a bit. A few months ago, a friend found a posting about an island most of the way down the Cape that was open to hiking, and it sounded fun.

Great Island, Wellfleet, Massachusetts:
OK, it's not actually an island. But, it is a great day hike on Cape Cod!

Great Island in Wellfleet turned out to possess an interesting history. It was an island as late as 1831, before the constant changes in currents and sand eventually connected it to Wellfleet through a new sandbar that became more prominent over the decades. Prior to that point, it already provided wood and land for houses and livestock, a tavern for sailors from whaling ships, and a home for the Punonakanits tribe, who had very good relations with the settlers until a smallpox epidemic led to their extinction. Woods have been reclaiming Great Island in the nearly two hundred years since, with planted pine trees helping to maintain the soil and reduce erosion. Now, a surprising variety of habitats exist across this fairly small peninsula, and it seemed to offer a good change of pace late in the vacation.

We headed out on a sunny morning from our mid-Cape starting point, and arrived in about an hour. Setting out with plenty of water, and with a secondary goal of breaking in new hiking shoes for the girls, we quickly found it to be more challenging than expected. We discovered the terrain to have surprising elevation changes, and sandy stretches made for tough traction, especially uphill. The heat and humidity added to the challenge, and poorly marked sections of trail led to occasional bushwhacking and exploratory scouting missions.

Pairing off and bonding during the search for the site of the tavern that served sailors, now lost to time and history.

Learning about the history of Great Island, Cape Cod

The hike’s purpose wasn’t solely to enjoy the variety of outdoor offerings on the Cape; it also served as a training hike for the girls. We have a three-day hike over Labor Day in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, covering about fifteen miles, and perhaps summiting three 4,000-footers. This will be, by far, the biggest challenge the girls have faced. Getting in a hike that wound up a little under seven miles created a new high water mark for the girls. Doing so in the open heat and sometimes through sand, with boots and packs, provided a good proving ground.  They took responsibility for their hydration and food. They learned that hiking can involve different techniques (such as to reduce the buckets of sand accumulating in one daughter’s boots). They showed some interest in history. They also pushed their pace compared to past hikes. They also bonded instead of complaining about heat or exertion.

See, girls? Hiking can be fun!

 

The girls’ willingness to make the most of the hike allowed for some great moments: checking out a bluff overlooking the picturesque bay below; pairing off and changing partners periodically, to discuss important topics such as upcoming birthday plans, summer camps, and what to eat for dinner; eating lunch in the sand as we gazed across Cape Cod Bay to the Provincetown Monument rising high above the end of the Cape; and finding a couple of monuments to an ancestor of the pilgrim’s Governor Bradford, who lived on this land at one point before donating it, and to a reinterred Native American woman, honoring the local tribe who helped the pilgrims gain a foothold in their New World.

 

These sorts of moments show that the girls are becoming stronger, and each new accomplishment gives them a new frame of reference. This allows “hard” hikes of a couple of miles to become no big deal, and allows “awful” hikes of foolhardy distances such as seven miles to become tiring but achievable. More importantly, these are transferable lessons: hard work leads to impressive accomplishments; breaking huge, intimidating efforts into little, easy parts makes daunting efforts manageable; what seemed impossible suddenly isn’t; self-sufficiency breeds confidence; attitudes can be chosen; and it’s important to enjoy the journey as well as the success.

Finish strong, girls!

 

Dessert before dinner: well-earned apres-hike ice cream!

We’ll definitely remember this vacation for the ladderball and bocce games on the beach, the seaweed fights in the ocean, and drying off in our beach chairs as we munched on watermelon. But we’ll also remember walking along the marsh, dunes, scrub pines, and bluffs. We’ll remember eating lunch with the waves of Cape Cod Bay lapping at our feet. I'll remember walking happily alongside one of my kids while watching Sara and the other in conversation ahead of us, before switching off, loving how our family continues to develop. And we’ll remember enjoying well-earned clam chowder and pub food for dinner afterwards as we took in some live music at an oceanfront restaurant. Those experiences add to the family memories. They also are more stepping stones as the girls continue to move towards adulthood.

 

See you on the trail,

Jay Bell, AKA Rock Hopper

67 in 67: Mount Moosilauke, Benton, New Hampshire (summit #22)

Hike #20: Mount Moosilauke

Elevation: 4,802

Date: June 27, 2015

Location: Benton, NH

Distance: 7.8 miles

Time: 5:26 (41:48/mile)

My first hike of the year, on Mount Cardigan three weeks prior, was a gentle one to test my feet. Both continue a 14-months-and-counting recovery from plantar fasciitis. It unfolded without any problems, including a relatively pain-free next day, so we decided to take it up a notch. The goal was to add some distance and tackle my first four-thousand-foot summit in twenty months, and twenty-second on the list of sixty-seven New England 4,000-footers.

Instead of excitement, I felt anxiety about the added distance and elevation, afraid of setting myself back and crushing my spirits yet again, as I long ago became a statistical outlier in my recovery time. We thoroughly researched the list of remaining 4,000-foot summits accessible for a day trip, and then further researched trails to figure out distances, elevation gains, and hiking times. We settled on Mount Moosilauke because of a recently revamped trail allowing for a longer but gradual ascent. This seemed to be the mildest route to the summit of a 4,000-footer, so we locked in on it for our hike.

Admiring the views from Mount Moosilauke

That Saturday morning, we headed out early, grabbing coffees for the road. When we approached the trailhead, cars were lined up well down the access road. The hike itself was to be 7.3 miles, but with a quarter-mile hike just to get to the trailhead, it added a half-mile roundtrip. However, the trails leave from near the Moosilauke Ravine Lodge, a Lodge – and a series of bunk buildings – maintained by Dartmouth College. Friendly staff greeted us in the main lodge as we checked it out and verified our planned route. They clearly hosted some bigger groups, and with an old building and big lawn nestled at the foot of the mountain, it seemed to be a great place for families, camps, or other groups to bond over shared adventure.

Our journey started at 10:30 and finished just before 4:00 that afternoon. All of the usual hiking elements showed up: legs burning from a long grind; woods giving way to scrub pines which, in turn, gave way to windswept grasses and exposed rock; views opening up to eventually reveal a panoramic view of surrounding mountains, dormant ski resorts, and roads snaking between villages and farms; lunch on the summit, sheltered from the constant wind behind some rocks; and bodies ready to finish a little before they actually could. Several rainbows even broke out on the summit.  In short: a good and normal hike, the way it’s supposed to be.

Mount Moosilauke's open summit affords great views of the ridgeline and mountains beyond

Mount Moosilauke is near Loon Mountain ski resort and Lincoln, one of the bigger towns around. It’s even closer to Woodstock, home of the Woodstock Inn, Station & Brewery, which features award-winning craft beers and a fantastic pub, with outdoor seating. We’d last been here two years before. A late season snowstorm on Memorial Weekend altered our plans, and after a couple of cold, wet day hikes, we enjoyed a hot shower and heated bathroom floor before chowing down and then sleeping on an extremely comfortable mattress.

Tough apres-hike decisions to make at the
Woodstock Inn, Station & Brewery in Loon, NH!

We opted to stop for some post-hike grub before spending a couple of hours driving home. We managed to snag one of the final outdoor tables available before the dinner rush. Over a refreshing beer and some of the better nachos we’ve ever eaten, we quizzed ourselves on the names and order of 4,000-footers we’ve done to date. Reluctantly, we paced ourselves on the nachos. Even more reluctantly, we cashed out and headed home, sorry to not spend the night.

My feet were mostly a non-issue, leaving me happy that the hike focused on the views, the conversation, the challenge to our bodies, and the chance to happily process it all afterwards. This was a chance to just lose ourselves in our hike and in our day. It was great in its ordinariness. With summer now in full swing, I’m less anxious and more hopeful that there are more of these times in store.

See you on the trails,

Jay, AKA Rockhopper

67 in 67, Hike #12: Mount Cardigan, Orange, New Hampshire

Hike #19: Mount Cardigan

Elevation: 3,156

Date: June 6, 2015

Location: Orange, NH

Distance: 5.7 miles

Time: 4:37 (48.36/mile)

 

Any time something becomes a regular event in your life, it becomes easy to take it for granted. Whatever it is, you may be very clear that you love or hate it. But, people often adapt to any change, so you adjust to it and it becomes your “new normal”. This may be a new approach to nutrition, new exercise program, new job, new kid, new divorce, new place to live… the list goes on and on.

 

When I went through some big upheaval in my life a few years back, multiple types of activities in the woods across all seasons became ways to work things out in my mind, connect with those around me, and enjoy living. In short, playing in the woods became my new normal. After a while, I developed skills and knowledge to even become pretty good at it all. I’ve now mountain biked black diamond trails, skied double-diamond trails, and hiked the whole Presidential Range of New Hampshire in a single day. I also have read and written about outdoor adventures, and some of the best moments of my life have taken place on mountains; not bad for a guy who quit playing in the dirt for twenty years.

 

A quiet moment to appreciate living well.

“Too many of us are not living our dreams because we’re living our fears,” Les Brown once observed. Many times, if you want to make a change in your life it is about making the mental commitment and persevering until that change becomes your new normal: quit smoking, and after the first week, month, and year it gets easier. Reduce your sugar enough and you’ll find that a big slice of cheesecake now sits like lead in your stomach for a few hours. Exercise several times each week and a few months later you’ll find you’ve dropped weight. This is the way it’s always been for me, too. Only, sometimes effort, commitment, and sacrifice are completely irrelevant.

 

Both my feet had a plantar fasciitis flare-up starting over a year ago. Symptoms worsened over a few months, and I became increasingly limited. I only hiked two easy mountains, biked very intermittently, and even skiing, one of the few doctor-endorsed activities, caused several days of pain. Apparently, I’m an outlier. Apparently, anyone who has a double limp also looks weird (feel free to video yourself trying it if you don’t believe me).

 

Bonding with Sara on Mount Cardigan's Holt Trail

A ridiculous amount of medical visits, treatment approaches, time, money, and agony clearly established me as a statistical outlier. More painfully, it cost me the chance to live life in the way I love. It cost me moments of calm, accomplishment, pride, intimacy, amazement, and insights. I've rarely felt as peaceful as I have when sitting on a solitary, wind-swept summit. Nor have I typically felt as connected to Sara as when we've bounced across deep and light topics during a hike and settled into an evening in a plush hotel room bed, bundled up in a hut, or in front of a crackling fire. My job has its challenges and rewards, but will never leave me as pumped as when I finally crossed a narrow bridge over rocks that had previously left me with a broken hand. Lastly, sitting with my girls beside a mountain stream or on a chair lift offers a great chance to better understand their world, give them opportunities to develop, and to have experiences that lead to stories we'll relive years later.

 

Is this a sign of fun or stupidity?

I’ve slowly progressed and just undertook my first hike of the season. The intent was for a mild, shorter day hike. We chose Mount Cardigan, in southern New Hampshire. It turned into more mileage because Google directed us to the wrong parking lot and we missed a trail intersection. But I survived. I also survived the Holt Trail, one of New Hampshire’s hardest trails that is about as difficult of a free climb as hikers will tackle. My feet were no worse the next day and it gives hope of more hikes to come this year.



The injury, regardless of the healing time, will be temporary. The real scare is because of what it points out: no matter your effort, at some point everyone’s best days will be behind them and their bodies will fail them. I can’t be in my sixties getting tossed over the handlebars deep in the woods. I won’t want to sleep in a hard, cold lean-to.  I won’t traverse the Presidential Range in a single day when I’m in my eighties. It’s not an insult; it’s part of the natural arc of life. Frankly, it’s the part that sucks. Perseverance can keep that part at bay for a while, but not forever.

 

Immersed in the free climb section
of the Holt Trail

Hiking Mount Cardigan reminded me how much I’ve missed this sort of activity: Sara and I were unplugged, our conversation meandered across topics, and we bonded after contorting ourselves through and over a particularly nasty section of rock. I liked the challenge that an oceanfront game of bocce can’t provide, and the endless view of rolling mountains reminded me of rolling waves, but yet was very different.

 

There may be no real lesson from this injury. Maybe it just stunk as it became my yearlong new normal. But, since we often search for meaning in events, maybe there is some value in it. Although I’ve loved how I’ve lived over the last few years, and tried to squeeze every bit of living out of those moments, maybe I still took it for granted, at least during this point in my life. This injury has reinforced how temporary and fleeting things can be. Maybe this helps me appreciate these times for however much longer they’ll last: more chances to have long conversations, to watch a child study a bug or butterfly, to enjoy the accomplishment of summiting a tough mountain, to coach my girls to push themselves past their comfort zones, to feel the rush of a natural mountain bike half-pipe among the trees, or to sit with my family on an open peak as we take in the view. While I currently can’t imagine the day when I give them up, maybe it also points out the benefit of being open to finding a way to continue some version of this lifestyle, but in a modified way: loving and immersing myself in the outdoors, but in a way I might not have thought of at this point in my life.

Feet, don't fail me now!

Today, I don’t need to figure out what my future outdoor lifestyle may look like. Time and effort will figure out what becomes my new normal. My desire for a meaningful life well lived means I’ll try to make the most of it. For now, I need to celebrate being on the edge of returning to those activities that offer a vibrant, connected life. In short, today I’m focusing on celebrating my impending return to my old normal.

 

See you on the trails,

Jay, AKA Rockhopper

Top 5 Most Random Parenting Moments

Father’s Day, 2015

In honor of Father’s Day, Sara posted a series of pictures over the years of me with my girls; sometimes tender, sometimes humorous, they were all sweet and left me thinking about the stories we’ve accumulated over the years. In honor of that, I offer five completely entertaining parenting moments.

 

How do I teach this move?

Surviving the inches-deep water and fighting the urge to pee!

Our first canoe trip caused some panic in both girls, still pretty young. They worried for a while about the risk of tipping and the potential to drown, and brief panic set in every time the canoe wobbled, which was pretty often. My attempts to alleviate their anxieties took a while to work, despite pointing out that the unsteadiness was because we were bottoming out and they were unlikely to drown in slow-moving water only up to their ankles. Eventually, they relaxed, but anxiety crept up again when they had to go to the bathroom and discovered there were no port-a-potties stationed periodically along the river.

 

Eventually, I headed off with one who was desperate enough to relieve herself. Finding a secluded spot, she was about to just stand and pee, and needed instructions on how to appropriately relieve herself. Suddenly, I realized I should have switched with Sara, as I am not knowledgeable enough to teach this technique! Alas, too late, and now I had to quickly figure out a reasonable technique and explain it. She was mostly successful, and comfortable enough to go again later. In fact, she declared her abilities as we were landing the canoes at the end of the day – and everyone else pulling their canoes out of the water were quite clear on her newfound skill!

 

Under-where?

Aah, the bliss (and sand) before we all realized
some critical clothing had been misplaced!

We took a road trip to the beach one year for a daughter’s birthday. We opened presents and enjoyed the time at the beach all day, and everyone had a blast. Late in the day, the goal was to change and go into town for dinner before heading home. In the bath house, we all changed out of sandy bathing suits in favor of dry, clean clothes. Only, we discovered that one daughter’s underwear had somehow gotten lost! No amount of searching uncovered the missing underwear, and we pondered our next move. So began my daughter’s first “commando” day. Upon arriving at the restaurant, we first ducked into a Gap store across the street, where my daughter went from commando to wearing the most expensive underwear she’d ever owned. Problem solved, and on to the birthday cake!

 

Does gravity still work?

Enjoying the beginning of a birthday celebration,
a moment before the crash.

“Camping for your birthday? Sure honey, sounds fun!” So began my older daughter’s birthday plan when she was seven. We stayed at a campground not too far away, with a nice site and nearby bathrooms and showers. We formally celebrated her birthday at the picnic table, with presents and dessert. Well, we tried. Unfortunately, right after the beautiful, wide smile, her birthday took a turn for the worse when she fell off the picnic table. Oops! While I am not sure what her birthday wish was, a reasonable guess would be to spend the rest of the day ouchy-free!

 

 

 

A timeout? Or chance to recover?

It’s unfortunate when your daughter acts up and needs to get a timeout. It’s even more unfortunate when she won’t go on her own volition and needs be carried. It’s terribly unfortunate when you’re carrying her to the timeout chair and accidentally bang her head on the doorway. OOPS!

Distraught and in a tutu. Oh, the humanity!

 

Revisionist history

On a glorious summer day, my mother and I drove my girls down to Newport, RI, for a tour of one of the mansions. We elected to take a self-guided tour, in which we wore headphones and started our recordings at the same moments so we’d hear everything in synch with each other. We were enjoying ourselves and laughing periodically. However, as we worked our way further and further into the bowels of the mansion, my smallest daughter became increasingly uncomfortable and we couldn’t figure out why. Later, we realized that the atrium-like set-up of the servants’ areas left her feeling as if the mansion would come crashing down on her. At the moment, I tried to reassure.

 

One daughter hugging the other, presumably because of finishing the tour!

My efforts proved to be in vain, as my mother subtly hid behind a wall in the next room, and sprung out at my youngest. She freaked her so badly that my poor, innocent child was left trembling. I both laughed and cursed my mother over my daughter’s head, as she hugged me in a death grip. She recovered quickly enough, and Nana and I continued giggling.

 

My payback was to continually misconstrue the story and how genetics work. Now, my daughter is convinced that Nana repeatedly traumatized to her and anyone related to her must be into scaring people because of Nana’s genes. The stories no longer bear any resemblance to the reality, but hey, why let the facts get in the way of a good story?

 

Cheaters Never Prosper

It’s important to be active, to experiment with different sports, and to pursue the one you’re passionate about; even if that is feet-never-lift-off-the-floor hallway races. However, even if you’re good and if you have a competitive streak, you should never cheat. If you do, you never know how the joy of defeat can turn into being hauled away by a crazy man for some dastardly torture.

All of these moments were unexpected and minor. But the little moments, whether in the midst of a bigger adventure or on an inconsequential evening, often make for the most beautiful memories. So, happy Father’s Day to the dads out there, navigating big and little events, and hopefully enjoying the ride!

 

 

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

Skiing, parenting, and letting go

Wildcat and Attitash, New Hampshire

Winter, 2015

 

I’m a parent. So I work to instill what I think are good values in my kids. I encourage them to dream and take chances and engage with the world. I try to inspire. I also worry: I worry that the world will inflict hurt they don’t deserve, or that I will mess them up. I worry about fears both real and imagined. I also try to relate to each as unique individuals, and to tailor my parenting to them. Then I try to model as best I can and given them experiences to reinforce everything.

 

For all my pondering, agonizing, modeling, and persevering, along with plenty of laughs, it was one of the better moments as a father to fall into the experiences we recently shared.

 

Skiing is the easiest outdoor activity aside of the beach to excite the girls. Unlike the beach, it involves risk taking, building skills and confidence, and very real successes or failures. The girls have now skied for five seasons, and have progressively improved. Sure, they’ve got their idiosyncrasies, such as one daughter stopping by extending her arms, as if an eagle coming in for a landing. But they have nervously yet successfully skied their first few black diamond trails. They’ve also enjoyed mild glades, darting in between trees and following my rule that you have to have a sound (“yip!”, “wee!”, or “ho!”) as you pop over the little jumps created in the woods. The girls entered the season having skied regularly, but only at two different mid-level mountains. But they are better than they realize, and their lack of confidence is as big of a barrier as is any gap in skiing technique.

 

Waiting for the rest of the group at a headwall at Attitash, NH

This season brought the first opportunity for them to ski with other kids. It appeared that peers can be more motivational than any of my allegedly inspirational speeches. Partnering these pre-teen girls with extended family including a slightly older boy and a girl in high school, and then choosing more challenging trails at a bigger mountain than they’ve historically skied, led them to seemingly feel obligated to keep up; they found out their skiing was perfectly fine. Also, when some peeled off to work on technique, they joined in. When one run split into two groups, they helped turn it into a “girls vs. boys” event. Importantly, they also had times on and off the slopes when they partnered up with the other kids and didn’t need adults present, relishing the attention and partnerships with older kids.

 

Bonding at Wildcat's lodge 

Conversely, we spent half of another ski vacation with another family that had two girls who were younger but more skilled. Skiing challenging trails at bigger mountains with this family, including many black diamond trails, seemed to motivate my kids to keep up with their younger counterparts. Given that both of those parents are also excellent skiers, it also led to looking at options that might not normally have been considered, such as skiing rougher stuff under the lift lines. Again, there was more independence and self-reliance showing up in various ways, such as when one of the younger girls insisted that one of my daughters ride the chairlift with her, which means my family wasn’t a constant foursome, having a single chairlift to ourselves. My kids had a hard time saying no to a young girl pleading for their company, and that reinforced their ability to handle a mountain without needing me to take care of things.



Group discussion of trail options (we chose the "most fun" one)

Later in that vacation, we skied some of the same trails by ourselves that they’d acknowledged were intimidating on a mountain they’d rated as lower on their list of favorites. Only, now some of those trails seemed easier, and the mountain now ranked #1 for one child and #2 for another. After a snowstorm dropped a foot of fresh powder, they also let go of their fear of falling. In fact, tackling black diamond trails with new snow pushed into near-moguls left grown-ups falling; instead of being intimidated by witnessing that, the girls came to see it as reassurance that it’s okay to try and fail.

Family time, in the late-afternoon shadow of Mount Washington,
after enjoying a foot of fresh pow and plenty of black diamond trails!

Dad, remember when hard trails scared us?

Their season concluded by skiing a mid-level mountain near home that we’ve skied many times before. After choosing the most difficult route to the bottom, the kids finished it confident, almost bored, and surprised that there was nothing harder left to tackle. In that moment, it became clear that they’ve outgrown that mountain. It also became clear to them that they’ve become good little skiers, and when I put myself and them through a lesson next winter to give us better technique for the harder and more fun trails we’ll continue seeking out, it will be hard for them to continue debating the value of that time investment.

 

It’s now exciting to more than just me to know that there are other big mountains in our future to go explore: chatter with the same extended family has already started around next winter’s “family reunion ski vacation” and discussing what big mountain we might next try, and the different amenities that may be offered by various major ski resorts (the girls can tolerate the four-hour drive to Jay Peak, Vermont, if they get to play in the amazing indoor water park). And the social aspect of such ski trips fosters further independence and memories. That autonomy and belief in themselves, which should translate to other aspects of their lives, is a huge underlying point of these sorts of efforts.

 

Sorry to see our best ski season ever draw to a close!

When I look back at the ski season, it was filled with great times together and with friends and family. It bred moments of laughter, exhilaration, adventure, personal challenge, and reward.  Some moments unfolded on the ski slopes, others in an outdoor hot tub, others in the ski lodge, and some great times took place just hanging out in a condo wearing PJ’s. I realized the girls share my feelings when they recounted some of these experiences with their friends and via Instagram pictures, and still regularly and proudly use their souvenir gear.

 

I hate to see the best collective ski season draw to an end, as the record-setting New England snow finally is melting away.  As my kids move further into pre-teen and teen years, my role becomes diminished, and I hope my philosophies, morals, and priorities are appropriately instilled while letting them be the individuals they are. Their reactions this year as I stepped back and a bigger group came into the picture left me feeling proud of my parenting, and prouder of what I’m seeing emerge in my increasingly independent daughters.

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

When Adventures End Badly

Sunday River, Maine
December, 2014

Great snow-making, but this turned out to
be foreshadowing of problems to come!

Great! Sara and I are on the morning of Day 2 of our ski vacation, we’ve dusted off the cobwebs during our first day of skiing, lift lines aren’t bad, and we’ve got a lot of runs in front of us over the next few days, capped off by the outdoor hot tub and some great après ski food, drink, and live music. We come across a black diamond trail and decide to tackle it. Let’s roll!

 

I now queue the high energy music and start attacking the trail. A couple of minutes later, Sara’s foot slides out trying to turn in her tele skis on a steep, icy section, and she has what appears to be an innocuous fall. And, in an instant, our vacation’s basically over.

Great view from American Express, right before our vacation ended prematurely!

While the fall seemed harmless, it left Sara barely able to walk. She’s tough: no one who’s a baby can complete a marathon, spend a week on a solo backpack, or go over the handlebars mountain biking and sport the most enormous bruise I’ve ever seen in my life. So when I kick stopped beside her I had a pretty good idea that our vacation had just taken as bad of a turn as she just did. It didn’t seem possible that an hour later we’d be tackling black diamond trails again on our way to eight hours of skiing, followed by another couple days of it. The vacation I’d hoped and planned for was no longer going to happen. So now it was a matter of waiting to see what this turned into.

Taking a step back for a moment, the reality is that Sara and I routinely put ourselves in harm’s way. We live a life that involves pushing mental and physical boundaries, and taking real risks. Some of the things we do require signing waivers, letting people know our plans in case we don’t return, and investing in protective gear – never the kind of thing couch potatoes are asked to do. There is a rush of adrenaline when I’m clipping into the bike on the high end of a rock garden, or planting my ski poles on a headwall, or taking off my backpack to throw it across a divide before leaping across myself. That rush partly stems from having fun in the woods. But it’s also very connected to knowing that I can get hurt. Most times I’ll be OK. Sometimes I’ll get dented up a little. A few times I’ll get laid out and be gimpy for a bit. And every once in a while I’ll need to go to the ER. But even though we are very calculated in the risks we take, that danger is a reality of this life and part of the thrill, and sometimes it means events won’t end well.

Nice view, but we were focused on making it down
the mountain in one (damaged) piece.

In this case, Sara and I were able to eventually work our way over to a summit lodge, where she tried unsuccessfully to stretch things out before doggedly skiing out under her own power, despite accidentally turning off a mild, green cruiser into a stunt park. Two hours after her fall, she finally could sit down in our hotel room, albeit gingerly and with assistance.

Now that the immediacy of being stuck halfway down an icy, steep trail with an injury had passed, the question arose of how to proceed. The resulting couple of days clarified a lot for me on two fronts.

Despite Sara’s encouragement for me to still ski without her and avoid a total waste of a vacation, I was done, too. For any bigger adventure, my reality is that I don’t want to do it alone. I want someone who can share the experience, enrich it, and relive it with me later. So, if my partner’s knocked out of commission, especially in this case if it’s my best friend and lifelong partner, the party’s over. My focus shifted to helping her, trying to ease her pain and help her acclimate to the reality that she’d really hurt herself. It led to a trip to the on-mountain clinic and then to the emergency room, where they luckily ruled out suspicion of a broken pelvis and instead diagnosed a deep contusion on a muscle controlling much of the movement of her right leg. That eventually led to returning home earlier than expected, where she could rest more comfortably.

Yep. Our adventure included seeing the inside of the clinic
this time. Not the adventure we wanted, but the one we had!

The other aspect that this clarified is that it didn’t really end the adventure. It just changed it. A survivalist rule dictates that you need to always be willing to reassess your situation instead of stubbornly locking onto your original plan. If these adventures are to learn about myself, grow, and share experiences further bonding me with others, especially Sara, then that didn’t end when our run down American Express did. We worked together, figured out and evolved our plans, and I held her hand as she laid nervously on an exam bed at the mountain clinic and later in the ER. In short, I was able to really be there for her as events unfolded. Those are still moments that brought us closer and that we’ll share for years, even if we didn’t get to try those Bloody Marys with the thick bacon stirrer they had at the summit bar.

Everyone is entitled to have their own goals and ways of doing things. For me, I was able to come away proud of how I adapted to the situation and supported Sara. I still have stories I can share. And it reinforces that this is part of the trade-off of this sort of lifestyle, with a chance to learn, grow, and live fully. Most importantly, the woman that I love, and love sharing this life with, and I are tighter than ever and will soon be back at it.

 

The end of one adventure just simply means the next one can get started!

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper