(HOST) Recently, commentator Willem Lange thought he’d lost his wife of fifty years – while hiking on Mt. Cardigan.
(LANGE) "Hi! Have you seen a woman in a long blue denim skirt?’ I asked everybody we met as we climbed the mountain, and everybody said no. After a few of those responses, I began to feel a little anxious. We seemed to have lost track of Mother.
It started innocently enough, as do most calamities of this type. Mother and I drove down to Cardigan Mountain Lodge, where we met a film crew and two friends for a day of climbing and filming on the trail to High Cabin. We’d spend the night there, go on to the summit next day, and hike back down. She was in charge of cooking, and had prepared brilliantly for limited water: preboiled pasta and prebaked beef bourguignon; frozen beans that’d thaw on the way; and a pie mix requiring no baking.
While the film crew and the rest of us dithered at the start, she decided to take off so as not to hold us up when we overtook her, as we surely would.
"How do I get there?" she asked the lodge manager. I listened as he described the route, and doubted I could follow such complicated directions; but I said nothing as she set out up the trail alone with her backpack, poles, and denim skirt – a Victorian explorer without the petticoats.
We followed slowly, filming as we climbed, and averaging well under a mile an hour. At the one-mile mark, we came to a spot where several trails diverge. Luckily, we had a map, and were able to dope our way onto the right trail. It was about then I began to ask people coming down if they’d seen our missing companion going up. None had.
Around four we reached the cabin half a mile below the summit. No Mother. Figuring if she was on another trail, she’d reach the top, we hurried to the peak. Nobody. Below us, the woods seemed vast and impenetrable. It was cell phone time.
Many of us who’ve hiked for decades disdain modern appliances. It was amazing how quickly, faced with the loss of the most important person in the world, we overcame our disdain. We reached the lodge manager and learned some hikers we’d queried earlier had passed the lady in the blue skirt, climbing the right trail and "not far below the cabin." Back down the peak we flew!
We found later she’d taken a trail described in the guide book as "very steep…ledges…one of the most difficult in New England." After scrambling half a mile, she’d met a trail crew, who told her to go back and take the other route. We’d already passed; so now she was behind us. She was delighted to see two of us descending to escort her to the cabin. She made supper by lantern light in the kitchen, and later laughed through a Scrabble game played in the glow of headlamps.
This is Willem Lange in Alexandria, New Hampshire, and I gotta get back to work.
(TAG) You can find more commentaries by Willem Lange on line at VPR-dot-net.