Saturday Jane and I hiked to the peak of Flattop Mountain (elevation 3,510 ft.). It's one of those rights-of-passage hikes that 'everybody' does. Jane had told me about a woman who hikes 1.5 miles up and back a few times a week after work. So, knowing all this, I wasn't expecting anything too strenuous (the book says "moderate"), even though there had been a few little snows on the mountaintops.





The view at the top was incredible, as you can see. Getting there was tricky. The last bit was raw, more of a climb than a hike (Left picture, above), and a bit treacherous in the snow. I am aware that I have a slanted awareness of ice and slipping, after my sledding accident, but still-- we most definitely could have died, with just a tiny misjudgement of foot placement, etc.

Was it worth it? I can say that it was an amazing experience. But it made me think about two big things: First, which people in my life would do that hike, knowing, as they got further and further along the path, its increasing danger? What is it that defines the riskers and our definitions of risk/danger? And second, maybe we shouldn't always do things just because we can. Elementary but profound when one is clinging to a mostly vertical wall of snow and rock with frozen fingers and a fall of at least a hundred feet (before a catchable cliff) below... I'm looking forward to doing the hike- with no snow- next spring. (Who's with me?)