Whose Peaks These Are

Whose peaks these are I think I know

His house is in the village though.

Looking over the Presidentials

 
This…is how I could spend my days.  A friend and I headed up to the White Mountains this past August for some kayaking, and decided to stop at Mt. Washington en route. Near the summit, I took this picture of her looking out over the Presidential Range, which includes Mt. Jefferson, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Madison.  

When there's 100+ mile-visibility at the summit, if you look to the east, sparkling streaks of sunlight gleam and bounce off the Atlantic, which transforms the coast of Maine into a shiny piece of silver. In the west, the blue summits roll on forever to the Adirondacks. In the valley below, you can spot the quaint mountain valley town of North Conway.

The White Mountains of New Hampshire are some of the most accessible and breathtaking mountains in North America.  Sure, the Colorado 14,000-footers, the High Sierras, the Canadian Rockies, the Teton Range of Wyoming, the Great Smoky Mountains on the Tennessee-North Carolina border, the Bridger mountains of Montana, and the countless other jaw-dropping mountains on this continent all have their merits. 

However, during the hot, long days of summer, where else can you rise early, hit the trails at sunrise, climb up through the forest into the alpine zone, eventually rise to high altitude rock faces above treeline where you’re completely exposed to the elements, reach the summit, relax and eat some PB&Js and M&Ms...

then descend, jump in some streams or waterfalls for an ice cold swim during the return trip, and make it home in time for pizza and cold drinks? Now that’s what I call time management.  

Lastly, the words at the top are borrowed from another favorite:  

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

 

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.