Lady of the Flies

The mountain beat us the last time we tried to hike it. My hiking partner Mo and I were camping along the scenic Kangamangus Highway in New Hampshire when we decided to tackle one of the famed four thousand footers. We chose a nearby mountain, Mount Tripryamid. It was know for it’s three separate peaks, the highest ones checking in at a respectable 4140 feet at the North peak and 4090 feet at it’s South peak. Mo and I were younger then, and new to hiking. We had underestimated the intensity of the climb and the distance of the entire hike. After a late start and more strain on the body then we could have realized, we turned back before the sun fell away from the sky. That was the day we really got a taste for climbing the four thousand footer. The mountain had beaten us and we wanted our dignity back.

The following year, we returned to the trailhead at the base of Tripyramid with determination and a plan. It was mid June and the mountains were just starting to warm up. With topographical maps in hand, we arrived early in the morning to conquer Mount Tripyramid. It was cool and breezy by the trailhead, perfect weather for hiking.

We started out briskly, trekking inward following Pine Bend Brook. It was a beautiful trail, following the banks of the noisy brook lined with endangered lady slippers. The water ran with a boisterous buzz through the trees. After a couple of miles, the day grew warmer and the forest sheltered us from the gusty breeze.

Mo and I don’t talk much on the trail, but I’m the first one to complain if I feel the slightest discomfort. I’ll march through just about anything, but whoever I’m with is going to hear about it. Mo is a steady as you go kind of person. Not much ruffles her. Her silence makes me more stoic, and I try to keep a lid on any tiny nuance I might be experiencing, so I didn’t gripe much when a cloud of tiny insects developed around my head. I just waved them away and pressed on. But within minutes, my head was at the center of a dark swarm of insects, and the aggressive ones were munching on my neck, head and ears. I let out a sudden exasperated cry and waved my arms like a crazy person, trying to disperse the dark cloud over my head, to no avail. I looked back at Mo and she was doing a similar dance, quietly trying to handle the attack. “Oh my God Mo, it’s Black Fly season!” I exclaimed as the situation

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