4000 Footer Club Essay

There are 48 summits over 4,000 feet in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) recognizes hikers who have climbed all 48 peaks in the AMC Four Thousand Footer Club. You can read more about the history of the club on the official webpage.

I completed the 48 4000-footers way back in 2014. I hiked my first one (Cannon Mountain) way, way back in 2003, and then proceeded to hike the rest of them across many weekend trips and family vacations, finally ending on Mount Carrigain. Admission to the AMC Four Thousand Footer Club requires an application containing a personal essay reflecting on the experience. After 8+ years of procrastination reflection, I am finally writing that essay. (My mom, who just completed the 4000-footers last fall, is also submitting her application this year. Perhaps that gave me some extra motivation to get mine done.)

My essay for admission to the AMC Four Thousand Footer Club is below.

A Low Moment on a High Summit

This essay is many years overdue. I completed the White Mountain Four Thousand Footers nearly a decade ago so I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on the experience. There were fun times, miserable times, and everything else you’d want in a good adventure. Beautiful views and pristine wilderness. Quality time with friends and family. Blisters and sore muscles. Enough bug bites to last a lifetime. Blood (minimal), sweat (lots), and tears (just the right amount).

I got the tears out of the way early. Days after my 12th birthday, on a beautiful summer morning, I set off with my family to hike Mount Washington. It would be my 2nd 4000 footer and it was exciting—the tallest mountain in the northeast!—but also daunting. It would be the longest, most difficult hike I had ever attempted. We took the Tuckerman Ravine Trail up and it was a steep climb. I remember being amazed that people could ski down that ravine in the winter (it still blows my mind, to be honest).

At the top of the ravine we split up. I continued with my dad up towards the summit, and my mom and younger brother turned around to head back. While we hiked to the summit, they would retrieve the car and drive around to the other side of the mountain. Later we would hike down the Jewell Trail and they would pick us up at the trailhead.

And so we continued! My spry 12-year-old legs powered me up the final few miles with relative ease, but I was exhausted upon reaching the top. After waiting in line for the obligatory photo op at the summit sign, we proceeded to the real highlight of the day: a hard-earned slice of pizza from the summit cafe. We took a long break and enjoyed our lunch. After eating, my dad reached into his pack to pull out the trail map and—oh no!—why are the car keys still in there!?

This was bad news. We forgot to give the keys to my mom when we parted ways at the top of Tuckerman Ravine! Now she would have no way of bringing the car around to pick us up on the other side of the mountain. Our plans were ruined and we didn’t know what to do. My mom didn’t even have a cell phone so there was no way of getting in touch.

I did not take the news well. We had planned to take the Jewell Trail, supposedly the easiest way down the mountain, but now we’d have to go back the way we came. The steep, long, difficult way we came. The thought was unbearable. Can’t we just take the Cog Railway down? No, that would send us to the wrong place and we’d be stranded. We have to walk. Tears started flowing as I grasped at any possible alternative to hiking down this mountain. I made a scene right there in the middle of the Mount Washington summit cafeteria.

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. My dad remained calm (no crying from him, as far as I remember) and eventually helped me come to terms with the situation. We’d take the Boott Spur Trail, which wasn’t as steep as Tuckerman Ravine. I wasn’t happy about it, but I agreed to try not to whine too much.

I don’t remember much about the descent other than that it was very long and not as bad as I expected. I do remember how relieved we were to see my mom and brother waiting for us at the bottom. The stress and panic from earlier in the day faded away and pretty soon we were all laughing about the ordeal.

In some ways, my Mount Washington hike set the tone for the rest of my 4000-footer journey (in many other ways it did not—we certainly never messed up a key swap again!). It required perseverance through challenges both expected and unexpected. There was plenty of Type 2 fun which led to a great story and a sense of accomplishment. That day encompassed so much more than just checking off one of forty-eight boxes, as did many days to come.

12-year-old me didn’t know that I would someday join the Four Thousand Footer Club. He didn’t know that I’d hike Mount Washington four more times and counting (not as much crying on the subsequent trips). He certainly couldn’t have imagined the lasting impact those years spent hiking the 4000-footers, maybe even that particular day on Mount Washington, would have on my life. The White Mountains sparked an interest in hiking that would lead me to travel to amazing places around the world, meet wonderful and interesting people, and have all sorts of fulfilling experiences.

I would be remiss to end with anything other than a note about my family. Completing the 4000-footers was a family endeavor from the beginning—my dad may literally have been with me every step of the way. It seems a fitting end to the journey that the four of us are submitting AMC applications this year: my mom completed her 48th peak last fall, my dad completed the 67 New England 4000-footers, and my brother and I… are finally submitting our applications after years of procrastination. We couldn’t have planned it any better.