Distant are the lights in the Valley

Not many people hiked in the White Mountains of New Hampshire in 1957. It was before the outdoor and ecology movements, and the trails were empty. On weekends you could still find sleeping places in the shelters and small cabins that dotted the wilderness areas of Northern New Hampshire.

 

I was sixteen that summer, and I had driven to Randolph to climb Mt. Adams with two friends. I had spent years hiking in the White Mountains as a summer camper, but this was my first “solo” excursion. In the morning we climbed up a ridge to a small cabin, which overlooked a long valley. Our elevation was over 4000 feet.

After finding places to sleep in the cabin, talking to the few other backpackers, and preparing supper, we wedged ourselves between two big rocks near the cabin. We looked at the distant valley lights and talked for hours. We talked about future trips, adventures, and possibilities. It seemed as if we were the only people alive, as there was no sound other than that of the silent wind. I felt a sense of peace and contentment that I would feel many times later on, when I visited similar, wilderness places. Gradually the lights in the valley dimmed as night moved on. At some point we knew we needed to end this magical time, and we eventually walked to our cabin to let our dreams take over and carry us to other places distant in time and space.