Live Free: Last-Minute Mountaineers
Evan lead the way up our climb to the summit.
The worst time to adjust your travel itinerary is when you’re already 30,000 feet in the air. Flying over the Granite State, I thought I had every detail ironed out — until my husband, Evan, looked out the cabin window and said the first thing he wanted to do was to hike a mountain.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Being from the Midwest, Evan had never seen mountains up close, much less hiked one. Given his adventurous spirit, a late summer / early fall mountain hike made sense, but I hadn’t factored it into the plan.
We spent our first few days in New Hampshire exploring the Seacoast with our friend Emily (and your fellow managing editor, an apt tour guide) and visiting her family. As “classic New Hampshire” as the Route 1A drives and the cobblestone streets of Portsmouth were, Evan couldn’t stop talking about the mountains. When it was time to pack up the car for our own adventure, we traveled north before settling into our charming suite in Jackson at the Christmas Farm Inn.
The next morning, between bites of breakfast, Evan researched nearby mountain hikes. We came across Mount Webster — a moderate hiking trail with stunning summit views. Despite my reluctance, we put on your “Live Free and Die” mentality hat, threw caution to the wind and headed north. A light dusting of snow appeared on the streets as we parked and found the trailhead. Undeterred by the conditions, we set out on the uneven path.
For the first hour, we didn’t see a soul. Then we passed two hikers with trekking poles and microspikes. We must have looked like tourists in our tennis shoes and jeans, but we owned it, and I gave them a sheepish smile while scrambling over rocks.
We must have been so lost in the wintry scenery that we missed our turn. Unbeknown to us, the Webster trail continued in another direction, and we soon found ourselves climbing Mount Jackson — one of New Hampshire’s 4,000-footers.
After slipping on one too many slick rocks, I was ready to give up, but Evan encouraged me to keep climbing. A few hours in, we noticed a Canada jay perched on a branch, cocking its head as if to ask why
we were up there.
To our surprise, the bird joined us, gliding from tree to tree between photo breaks. At first, it seemed peculiar, but then its presence became a comfort and supported us through the last stretch.
A Canada jay kept watch over our progress.
After we climbed the steepest incline on our hands and knees, we reached the summit with reverence, taking in the hard-fought view as the mountain took the remainder of our breath away. Moments later, we realized we’d hiked the wrong mountain, thanks to a trail sign. We laughed and began our descent.
My mood lifted with every step, but Evan worried about getting back before sunset. It was my turn to encourage him as we found our footing and finally reached the car hours later. As we drove back, Evan pointed and said, “Do you see that mountain peak? We climbed that today.” We felt euphoric.
Thankfully, we resumed my itinerary the next morning, but before heading to Maine, we stopped at The Christmas Loft in hopes of finding an ornament to commemorate the trek. Serendipitously, we found one bearing a striking resemblance to our Canada jay friend.
Now the ornament hangs on our Christmas tree every year — a reminder of our adventures through the Granite State and that hope has a way of finding us in the most unlikely places.
