It was the summer of 1992 and my three sons and I were attending a boys’ camp reunion at Camp Pemigewassett in New Hampshire. Outdoor activities filled each day. On the first day, we canoed down the Connecticut River north of Hanover. On the second full day, we had several options and I chose a hike up nearby Mt. Moosilauke. I had fond memories of family trips up Moosilauke as a child; my only worry was my youngest son Arthur being able to make it to the top and back. He had hiked before, but nothing as strenuous as this New Hampshire four-thousand footer. Its summit rose above the tree line into an exposed jumble of rock. Though he had a birthday coming up, Arthur was still just four years old. I could easily imagine hearing the plaintive cry that often came from the back seat of our car: “Dad, are we there yet?”
Moosilauke is the first high mountain on the Appalachian Trail north of Virginia. Hikers coming from the south look for it as a landmark as they push into the challenges of the White Mountains. The Gorge Brook Trail departs from the Ravine Lodge at the base of the mountain and is one of the easier ways to ascend, but it’s 7.4 miles round trip. For inexperienced hikers, that’s a full day venture.
As soon as we began, the two older boys, Alex and Peter, took off and quickly disappeared into the woods. We wouldn’t see them again for hours. That left me with Arthur and the fear that the inevitable cry, “Dad, carry me!” would soon pierce my ears. What would I do then?
But the cry never came. Instead, Arthur talked his way up the trail as if the climb was the most normal thing in the world. Motivated by a desire not to end up lugging him up three arduous miles, I joined in what became a lively continuous conversation. The big topic was his upcoming birthday. He was excited about the possibility of getting some Transformer Action toys, and he kept speculating about which one would be the best to get. Up and up we chattered until suddenly we were beyond the trees and near the open summit, the 3.7 miles behind us. Alex and Peter were waiting to greet us at the top.
We descended the mountain as a family, but Arthur’s non-stop birthday talk did not cease. In fact, about half way down, we met an older gentleman who stopped to say hello. Serendipitous encounters with strangers frequently happen on the Appalachian Trail and over the years I’ve come to expect, savor and cherish them. Arthur immediately brought our new friend into the birthday conversation and the kindly gentleman seemed to listen intently. It was a moment to remember. Even then, I recall thinking: maybe someday, in the distant future, Arthur would be ascending this same Gorge Brook Trail where he would come upon a family with a four year old. And I could imagine Arthur leaning over to hear the child talking and talking about his upcoming birthday and the wonderful gifts he might receive. My gift that day was the image of that moment on the mountain where generations intersected and a young boy shared his happy visions with someone just passing by.
