An Incident on Mount Adams

Note: Some of you know that I like to do short backpack trips. I always stuff a journal in my pack, to record anything interesting that might occur. Maybe it’s a naïve hope, but I’d like to one day turn my experiences into a book. Anyway, last year I did a short hike on the Appalachian Trail in the Presidential Range of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. What follows is an incident that happened on one of the peaks, Mount Adams. If you feel inclined, let me know your thoughts. Your feedback improves my writing and motivates me to get closer to that elusive book.

The hikers become thicker as I near the base of Mount Adams. Most of them hike in groups. Occasionally, I move to the side of the trail to let them pass. Sometimes they glance up and acknowledge me. Other times they continue to converse with their companions, keeping their eyes on the ground.

Everyone’s different. Even at work, or at the gym, or in the park, some individuals never make eye contact. But at least out here on the trail, they’re not clutching their smartphones as a baby clutches a bottle.

Soon, I arrive at a large, open field. Off to the right are several worn footpaths leading to a rocky summit: Mount Adams. President John Adams always seems overshadowed by larger-than-life Washington and Jefferson, so I commit myself to climbing the summit in honor of our second president. Like Adams the man, the peak is small, but it’s majestic. A number of other hikers also scramble to the top. There’s no worn path, just a jumble of grey boulders to negotiate however one chooses. Unlike at Mount Jefferson, where I left my pack at the summit base, I haul my pack up Adams, which makes for a slow climb. But pretty soon, I’m at the top, surrounded by a mass of day hikers.

For the first time in a while, there are no clouds, and I’m treated to a panoramic view. The view isn’t as stunning as at South Twin Mountain a few days ago, but I also don’t have to deal with that day’s heat or exhaustion. Since it’s still early in the day, I linger here longer than normal. The Labor Day crowd makes for a buzzing social scene.

Back on the Appalachian Trail, at a large cairn signaling the mountain’s location, there was a bustling crowd of kids and adults. I figured it was maybe a church or civic group. Not long after summiting Adams, several of them make their way to the top. Immediately, I notice something a little different about them. The kids all have dark tans and very long hair. They wander by themselves, without adult supervision, and chatter excitedly. One of them, long-haired and lithe, looks neither boy nor girl.

Then a man bounces over the edge of a boulder, standing with his hands on his hips, scanning the crowd on the top. He’s wiry and healthy-looking, with a sandy brown ponytail that’s streaked with grey, and he has a beaming smile. I can’t tell his age. He could be in his late thirties, but with his greyish ponytail, he could instead be twenty years older.

“What an amazing view!” he exclaims with extroverted zest. “And all these amazing hikers!” I see him shoot me a quick, white-toothed glance.

He scurries around the rocks, taking in all the views. I sit on a rock in silence, observing two large dogs panting nearby. But my ears are open. Before long, the ponytail guy is carrying on a conversation with two young men. I overhear him say “Plymouth” and “Blue Bell Bakery,” or something. They chat for about five minutes, interrupted by the man’s gasps of amazement at the views. At the end of the conversation, I hear him extend an invitation to the two men to visit the bakery.

This is one of those times when I feel isolated. Like I don’t belong. I get this way occasionally. I’m not a shy person, in most situations. But in other situations, I have a difficult time opening up. It’s probably a combination of the loner in me, some bullying as a kid that made me wary of people, plus the social anxiety I’ve dealt with most of my life. These three people, after only five minutes, act like they’re old friends. Yet I can know someone for five years and still feel like a stranger.

I observe this ponytail guy like he’s a celebrity or something. He looks good, and there’s a magnetism about him. His wispy ponytail and extroverted manner remind me of certain freespirited hippies I knew back in school. They always seemed comfortable with themselves, and never took things too seriously. While I’ve always been drawn to these types, envious of them, I’m also always a little intimidated. For lack of a better word, they exhibit a “karma” that I don’t have, and probably never will.

Eventually, I zigzag my way down Mount Adams. The descent seems longer than the ascent. Which boulder should I choose to step on? This one. No… this crested rock is a good fit for my boot.

The two dogs and their owners quickly pass me by. So do the two young men. Ponytail guy is already at the cairn with his large group. I don’t see the kids anywhere.

I reach flat ground and angle toward the AT. But I deliberately taper my angle so I can pass by the cairn. I’m still curious about ponytail and his group. Maybe I can pick up some clues from their conversation.

As I get closer, I shoot a few glances out of the corner of my eye, hoping that I won’t appear nosey. But ponytail guy catches me looking.

“You’ve got a big pack there!” he shouts at me. “Where are you headed?”

I veer toward him. “Headed for Osgood Tentsite tonight,” I answer shyly. “Then my car tomorrow, and back home to Ohio.”

He asks me a few more questions, and before long, we’re into a free-flowing conversation. We talk about the White Mountains, Mount Washington, the scenery, the details of our respective hikes, and the town of Plymouth, Massachusetts. He and his group are doing a several-day hike. Then I see the long-haired kids. They drift in and out of the group. If their parents are here, I’m unable to determine who they are. The kids seem to belong to no one, and everyone.

Then I ask him his name.

“Shemet,” he says with a smile.

“Sh…Shemet?” I ask.

“Yes, Shemet.” Then he tells me it’s an old Hebrew name that he adopted a while ago. Suddenly, a young teenage girl approaches us.

“This is my daughter, Mehenomet.” Mehenomet tilts her head and smiles.

Hmm.

Shemet tells me that all the members of his group have adopted Hebrew names (despite the fact that they’re probably all Gentiles). He then tells me he used to work as a park ranger. He hints about certain unsavory activities he engaged in when he was younger. (“Didn’t we all!” I assure him). He and his wife divorced, and he eventually joined the group he’s with today. But he doesn’t give me the group’s name, or its purpose or affiliation.

I ask Shemet why he’s no longer a park ranger. It’s a career which I thought about pursuing when I was younger, and which I’ve always considered meaningful and fulfilling.

“I had no meaning or fulfillment,” he says. “I got tired of rattling on about birds and animals and lakes. There’s a bird, here’s a lake,” he says mockingly. “I didn’t want to serve nature anymore. I wanted to serve people!” he says enthusiastically, as if people and nature weren’t inseparable, and park rangers didn’t serve both wildlife and people.

His rock-headed revelation hits me like a right hook to the jaw. So much for that blissful “karma” I thought about on top of Mount Adams. His coolness quotient drops as precipitously as the mountain. But I guess I’d set myself up for this shock. I had it coming.

We continue to chat, but I slowly inch my way toward the trail. Then, a swarthy, dark-haired man approaches and introduces himself. It’s another Old Testament-type name. He hands me a pamphlet and tells me to read it at my leisure. I thank him, wave goodbye to Shemet and Mehenomet, turn northward on the trail… and feel like a leash has been removed.

I slip the pamphlet into a pocket on my pack, promising myself to at least glance at it later. After I return home, I do. The title is “The Twelve Tribes.” Just below the title is a watercolored illustration of long-haired stick people, children and adults. They’re holding hands and dancing in a circle. I read the bubbly, upbeat words inside the pamphlet. Later, I visit the internet and read more about The Twelve Tribes.

I try to be open-minded about things. And you can’t make snap judgements from a pamphlet, and certainly not the internet. But like so many other “clubs” that rely on dogma and a fixed set of beliefs and practices, what I learn about The Twelve Tribes convinces me it’s not for me, and it’s further proof of Shemet’s scrambled thinking.

Shakespeare undoubtedly had a pithy observation about all of this. In lieu of his words, I’ll go with someone more contemporary, like singer John Prine:

“It’s a big old goofy world.”

 

17 thoughts on “An Incident on Mount Adams

  1. I have learned on my life path to trust my B/S meter.
    Maybe it started as a kid when the priest came into our 8th grade classroom hoping to guide us into the wonders of the seminary and celibacy. Hell no, I wanted to be a Beatle.
    Next…Up With People, uh no.

    Later (’70s) there was the “Dare To Be Great” crowd. Again, no thanks but thanks for the free Alice Cooper tickets.
    Scientology, hmm sorry, busy this weekend.

    My wife in the past year was looking for spiritual inzpiration.
    She met with a “Holy Man / Preacher for some guidance.
    He offered her his ticket out of Hell as her Catholic baptism was a sham and his church could baptize her and St.Peter would be her concierge in Heaven.

    Come Back To Us Barbara Lewis Hare Krishna Beauregard

    The Wolves comes in many clothings.

    Rob 😉

    • You’re preaching to the choir here, Rob (sorry about the awful pun). It’s not the spirituality. I feel spirituality is a healthy part of life. It’s all the baggage that organized faiths shove into it: the rules, regulations, rituals, superstitions, and prejudices. I could go on, but I won’t. It’s good to have a sense of humor, though. Like you, Frank Zappa, and (dare I say it)… millionaire/con man/entrepreneur L. Ron Hoover and his Church of Appliantology.

  2. It was a very interesting perspective. I had never heard of the twelve tribes before. You inspired me to look into them. They do appear a bit cult-like. Based on this article, I think a book about your hiking experiences would make a fascinating read.

    • Hey, thanks Diana. A couple hiking-related books have done really well (Bill Bryson’s and Cheryl Strayed’s). They’re both great writers. I think it helps to add a lot of people-related anecdotes to the “Here’s a bird, there’s a lake” stuff, which may not hold up for 300 pages! (Thanks for dropping in).

  3. Interesting anecdote. A little suspenseful as, frankly, I wasn’t sure if you were gonna say these guys tried to rough you up or something. I didn’t know where the story was going. But a question I have is, what was so “shocking” in what he said? Or why did his coolness factor drop? I didn’t really get a strong sense of that from the story.

    • Great critical feedback, Jim. Yeah, the shock was that he was initially so magnetic due to his freespirited look and behavior, and seeming self-assurance, then finding out he needed a crutch, such as a religious sect (and his very uncool remark about wildlife and nature, no matter how sincere). Maybe I didn’t make the irony apparent enough, so I’ll have to revisit. Thanks for your honesty and helpful appraisal.

      • Yeah, I think it was the wildlife and nature thing. I didn’t pick up on why what he said was so bad. That could be my own lack of oudoorsy-ness. My idea of the great outdoors is pretty much Central Park. But recall people who read you may well be as tone deaf on that as I am and so you’d have to explain your thoughts on that. My two cents. Regardless, interesting anecdote. Thanks.

      • No, thank you! People who’ve read this blog for a while probably know my love of the outdoors. And a book dealing with hiking will have a particular audience. But your observation is real helpful. And I love your Central Park comment!

  4. I always enjoy your writing/stories Pete. Something really off about handing out “pamphlets” in a setting like that (or anywhere). He would have got the stinky eye from CB. On the other side of the coin you might have met up with someone like John Prine, sat down talked about this “Big old goofy world” and had a few laughs. The best part was that you were out there soaking up all that natural beauty. Your takes on these places make me want to visit and go for a little soul refresher. Good stuff.

    • Soul refreshing is the perfect term, CB. That’s mainly why I go hiking. Would love to one day hike Banff, near you, which another reader and good friend has hiked and recommended. Also, meeting Prine would definitely be memorable. Shemet was memorable too, and very friendly (whether his friendliness had an ulterior motive, who knows?). But we weren’t on the same wavelength.

      • I met the Game Warden/Park Ranger in a place called Waterton Park. Very cool guy. He absolutely loved his job (wasn’t a job to him). On your way to Banff check out Waterton, beautiful. Van Island where I dwell there are so many trails, hikes, etc. Why I live here. One day come up and well take a walk. (Another Prine song)

  5. I have been to “Klickitat” as I used to live in Oregon. I was once a “back country” guy in the Sierras as well but found the trails looking more like the 405 Freeway in Los Angeles. I also got tired of lecturing people to pack out their trash. I’ve mellowed the last 4 decades and am now content with a huge bag full of great memories, a 3-weight fly rod and my wife of 36 years.

  6. Enjoyed reading this. Like you, I take an age to make friends, but then the friendships made tend to last. A bit of an introvert, I will strike up a conversation on the trail, assuming that it tends to be like-minded folks out there enjoying the outdoors. Always happy enough to go our separate ways – so maybe it’s really miserabilism rather than introversion?! Good on you for accepting the pamphlet and following up – I’d have been “thanks, but no thanks!”
    Anecdotes like these will make for an enjoyable hiking book.

    • Thanks for reading and commenting (I enjoyed your “mountain town” piece). Introversion is misunderstood, I think. A friend of mine once gave a good definition of both introversion and extroversion, and I wish I could remember them, but they’re not what many people think. Some of the loudest, most conversational people can be introverts, whereas the “quiet” ones can enjoy the society of others. I’m one who loves sharing conversation and having people around, but ONLY on my terms. And I have no problem being alone. I’ve gone on cruises with my wife, and I’m constantly thinking of the trail (“Get me away from this hedonistic shit!”). But after a few days on the trail, I can’t wait to return to society and hedonistic behavior again. So maybe I am a “miserable-ist,,” like you say! Thx again.

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