CHRISTINE WARNER-WEIDNER MADE IT TO the summit of Washington without riding or walking - she was strapped to a litter. In July 2002, the Chelsea woman, now 48, and a group of relatives stayed overnight at Lakes of the Clouds, a hut between Washington and Mount Monroe. "Everybody had packs, food, coats - we were ready," she says. In the morning, the wind roared as they prepared to set out for the next hut south, Mizpah. "My son-in-law had to grab my grandson. We thought he was going to get pulled away." They decided to go anyway, thinking there would not be room for them to spend another night at Lakes of the Clouds. Minutes into the journey, Warner-Weidner tripped on a rock, fracturing her ankle. "Instantaneous pain. I just screamed into the wind," she says. An hour later, rescue volunteers and fellow hikers carried her the mile and half up to the auto road. "I was tossed all around, getting elevation sickness," she says, the story still causing her voice to quiver six years later. "It was a life lesson. Thirty people who didn't even know me brought me to safety. They were phenomenal. I don't know what would have happened if I couldn't have gotten out of there."
A Beautiful Place to Die
Cellphones, energy bars, and GPS watches have turned day-trippers and curious tourists into mountain-trekking thrill seekers. The problem is, the treacherous trails of the White Mountains are no place for rookies.
Bernie Dahl of Winterport, Maine, nearly didn't get out. Officials cite his case as an example of what not to do. One calls him "naive." On October 23, 1999, Dahl, now 69, hiked up Mount Washington's Lion Head Trail. He passed the warning sign. Rain turned to snow, and a group of climbers turning back urged him to do the same. "I thought, I'm from New England, this is my kind of weather," says Dahl, a retired pathologist and a hiker since childhood. "There was a certain arrogance involved." By 4 p.m., he was trapped in hurricane-force conditions. Then Dahl remembered he had a cellphone and dialed for help. It eventually came, but not before Dahl reconciled himself to dying on the mountain. "Freezing is a nice way to go. You have an abnormal sense of warmth. I did not pray for rescue, I prayed for understanding and acceptance. I risked my life, and others had to risk theirs. That's not right, I don't deny it." Today, he speaks to groups about the "spiritual experience" and maintains a website (mtwashingtonmisadventure.com).
"I learned three things," he says. "One, be prepared to die, meaning have your life in order; two, have a plan to live; three, do both of those things now - you don't know when number one is going to hit." But on that night nine years ago, as rescuers emerged from the swirling snow to bring him back, Dahl's concerns were more immediate: "I said, 'You guys are beautiful. I can't believe you're here.' Then I asked if they were going to put me in the slammer."
Mark Pothier is a Globe business editor. E-mail him at mpothier@globe.com.