Yesterday I got to experience a bit of what I think of as the heart of New Hampshire. Liz and I met up at her parents' place in the morning and made the two-and-a-half hour drive north to the White Mountains. Our mission: to climb Mount Jefferson, which at 5712 feet is the third highest in the northeastern US. It stands in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, topped only (logically enough) by Washington and Adams.

Liz had requested of her dad a mountain that could be climbed without hiking boots. However, I think he might have misheard that particular bit of information. As a website informed us after we arrived home, "Jefferson is also the only 5000-footer in the Northeastern U.S. (outside of Washington with its road and train) that can be climbed with less than 3000 feet of vertical gain, using the Caps Ridge Trail from Jefferson Notch. This trail, though, is steep and very rugged...and it is best avoided by novice hikers."

Ah, what you don't know. The trail was indeed very steep and rugged, involving a lot of clambering over what I now know is called "talus" (basically large piles of big rocks), and finding toe and hand holds to haul yourself up steep rock faces. Added to this, about two-thirds of the trail is above tree line, which meant piercingly cold winds. I was deeply grateful for my thermal shirt, thick hoodie, and wool hat. Liz and I only regretted not packing gloves as well.

The climb was strenuous and reasonably challenging, and by the time we reached the summit two and a half hours later I felt I'd nearly reached my limit. However, it was all worth it. The magnificence of the White Mountains was spread out before us, green hazing to blue toward the horizon. We heard from descending hikers that the morning had been cloudy and miserable, but for much of the way, we enjoyed sunshine. The benefit of so much of the trail being above tree line is that the incredible view isn't limited to the summit. We even found tiny wild blueberries to munch along the way, far tastier than any store-bought berry.

There's something incomparably magnificent about sitting at the top of a mountain like that and contemplating your achievement with what looks like the whole world dropping away beneath you, scrubby pine brush and spiky white birch and piles of rock as far as the eye can see, a lone crow flapping by the only sign of life besides the crazy humans.

But not for long. It was bitingly cold at the top, so after asking an obliging fellow hiker to take our photo and resting for a bit, we headed back down. The way down is almost more challenging, far harder on joints and muscles and requiring greater concentration to avoid twisting an ankle or falling. We did a lot of sliding down rocks on our behinds. It wasn't long before we were back below tree line and into the mossy forest where we'd started out, and finally, stumbled out the end of the trail into the parking lot.

It was the perfect outing to celebrate a friendship and to end a time in New Hampshire, and I only regret not doing it far sooner and far more often. Something about by sheer perseverance and the power of your own body conquering a physical challenge like that makes you feel so alive and so very, very good. I wish this was the latest of several mountains I'd climbed while here, but hopefully, it will be only the first.