My first hike of any real merit took place a number of years ago. Tumbledown Mountain, in southern Maine, is not particularly challenging, but it is a pretty hike and with a loop distance of 5.6 miles does get the heart pumping a little.

I was intrigued by the hike after reading a description of Tumbledown Pond, which, at an elevation of some 2,500 feet, about 500 feet short of the summit, provides hikers with the opportunity for a refreshing swim and, also, for those so inclined, the chance to flyfish for brook trout in its gin-clear water.

Fishing was not in the cards for me that day, but what I recall most – and what got me hooked on hiking – was the view I had upon ascending Tumbledown’s peak.  From there, I watched a number of red-tailed hawks (not sure of the exact number now, but think it may have been three or four) riding the mountain wind currents in swooping, graceful arcs.

That is often enough to bring a smile to my face and glow to my heart. But on this occasion, it was better than that. How so? Well, instead of looking up at the hawks, I was gazing down at them. They were certainly no less beautiful; I was just so much more captivated by that amazing view.

Fast forward to Monday, August 31, 2015.

I could barely keep my feet under me as I reached for the top of the cairn on the peak of Mt. Washington in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. At 6,288 feet, Mt. Washington is the highest peak in the U.S., east of the Mississippi River. It is known for its dangerous and highly unpredictable weather conditions (the second highest wind reading on planet Earth – 231 mph -- was recorded on Mt. Washington in 1934),* and summer is no guarantee that a winter storm might not grab you by the collar and shout in your face, “And just what do you think you’re doing up here on my mountain!”

As I touched the top of the cairn that day, winds were gusting at more than 70 mph and the wind chill was in the 30s. Then, for the briefest of moments, the hawks that had inspired my love of hiking flashed before me.  I was grateful to them and grateful for having achieved a goal that I had set a number of years ago.

And then it was time to head back down.

 *The Mt. Washington record was surpassed on Australia’s Barrow Island during Cyclone Olivia in 1996 when the wind gusted to 253 mph.