We rarely have to pay for sins we committed eleven years prior. But I was paying now. Eleven years prior I had climbed North Peak. If I had taken but a few minutes to make a traverse on that occasion, I could have gotten to Middle Peak too. But back then I had never heard of The List. So today I climbed Middle Peak of Tripyramid and now was overtired, and still had a long hike along Livermore Road to get out of the woods. There were a lot of biting flies around. My feet were blistered. My muscles felt kind of rubbery. I was paying for my sins.
I was sitting on a log by the trail when a woman hiked by and said hi. I told her I only had one peak to go: Tecumseh. "No way!" she said. "Congratulations! You picked a baby mountain to finish up with. You gonna do it today?" (I must have cringed.) "Hey, relax. You can do it in about an hour."
"What, half hour each way?"
"About an hour." She trotted off into the forest.
Later that afternoon I was hitching a ride to Tecumseh's trail head. I told the woman who picked me up that I just had one peak to go. "Oh? Those guys" (she jabbed a thumb toward the two men in the back of the van) "have both climbed them all. In winter."
I didn't need anyone else to confirm how minor my accomplishment would be, but another person who picked me up did it anyway. He explained the proper way to get in shape for a major climb like his recent ascent of El Capitan: "You gotta jog up Mount Washington with an 80-pound backpack." He told me he turned down an offer to be on an Everest expedition. My impression was it wouldn't be tough enough for him. I mentioned my minor accomplishment. "I know someone who's climbing them all in each month of the year" he said.
I don't care what they say about Tecumseh being the lowest of the 4000-footers; it's still a mighty long schlepp. I suppose that woman was just trying to be encouraging when she advertised this as the One-Hour Mountain. After many miles and hours on the slopes of Tecumseh all I really wanted was for this whole 4000-footer project to be over. But I had to push on -- it would be dark before long. It was around then that I encountered a couple descending. "You climbing to the top?"
"Ya."
"Well, it's an awful long way still." They descended into the gloom.
But of course I did make it to the top under my own steam. And, much more importantly, I made it to the bottom again (the Four Thousand Footer Committee clearly states that the hiker must climb to and from each summit). So the official moment of triumph comes not in the sunshine of some wind-swept peak, but as you stagger back down into the parking lot at the mountain's foot. And it didn't take long for the first person to ask the question that I've heard half a dozen times since: "What're you going to do now?"
Reply: "ford every stream?"