Borestone Mountain: 'Trails' and Tribulations
January 5th 2009 16:21
I have hiked a lot in my life. I have always tried to maintain a good level of physical fitness, with some years being better than others for this of course. I have hiked Borestone Mountain before when I was a kiddo and recalled it being quite easy.
A little over a decade had passed and I had the opportunity to hike it again with my dad and my husband this past summer. My dad is in peak physical condition, always has been. I would describe myself as having a moderate level of physical fitness. My husband...well let's just say I have to dangle a steak in front of his nose to get him to do anything physically active with me.
So this particular day, we had been camping with my dad and dad offered to take us up Borestone. I was excited as I hadn't done it in so long, my husband asked questions like, 'How long is it?' and 'How steep is it?', valid concerns, nonetheless irrelevent if we are to hike it anyway.
We get to the parking lot and start on our journey, the first half of the hike being an access road that leads to the toll house. My husband is already getting a bit winded by the occasional uphill legs of our 1/2 mile excursion to the house. We reach the toll house, located by a beautiful lake that is nestled in under the comanding mountain above it. I stare in awe at the beauty of it, my dad chats with the ranger and my husband stands in disbelief of what we are about to climb. Not only is he a tad out of shape, but he is also a tad afraid of heights. We begin the second leg of our journey to the peak of Borestone. At first, it is a fairly even trail through the woods, my dad happily whistles a Neil Young tune when he is not flapping his gums about the woods, the mountain, hiking, and anything else he can think of. I quietly enjoy the scenery and the time with my two favorite guys, walking behind my dad, while my husband lags behind me a bit, looking less than impressed.
We reach the steep part: the part when you need your arms as well to climb up some rock faces. My dad continues to talk and whistle, his breathing not even remotely labored as he climbs. I am a bit red faced and out of breath, but able to continue without a problem. I look back at my husband, who has stopped and is bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing very heavily and his face is as red as a lobster. My dad stops to see what the hold up is. "You alright kid?" my dad calls to my husband, "It is the journey and not the destination that matters" he says wisely. "Come on honey" I call to my husband, "You can do it, we are almost there, are you having fun?". My husband stands up and looking rather pissed off, states "This is fun?!?!?!?" I can't help but chuckle. I grew up doing this stuff with my dad all the time and have always loved it, my husband on the other hand, grew up riding motorcycles, which incidently doesn't require much physical fitness.
We finally reach the top to enjoy the view. It is fantastic. My dad goes on and on and my husband sits on a rock, refusing to look out over the edge. I am glad fot eh accomplishment and the view. My husband is just glad that he hasn't died yet.
We journey back down after taking a few pictures and admiring the view and what we had accomplished. My husband is very glad when we reach the car. He sits in the back seat and falls asleep after vowing never to hike again. I think that he is a brave man and a man who must really love me to do something that I really love with me and my dad, even though he hates it.
I made him a thick, juicy steak for supper when we got home. He said maybe he'd try it again in the future, just not that mountain again.
A little over a decade had passed and I had the opportunity to hike it again with my dad and my husband this past summer. My dad is in peak physical condition, always has been. I would describe myself as having a moderate level of physical fitness. My husband...well let's just say I have to dangle a steak in front of his nose to get him to do anything physically active with me.
So this particular day, we had been camping with my dad and dad offered to take us up Borestone. I was excited as I hadn't done it in so long, my husband asked questions like, 'How long is it?' and 'How steep is it?', valid concerns, nonetheless irrelevent if we are to hike it anyway.
We get to the parking lot and start on our journey, the first half of the hike being an access road that leads to the toll house. My husband is already getting a bit winded by the occasional uphill legs of our 1/2 mile excursion to the house. We reach the toll house, located by a beautiful lake that is nestled in under the comanding mountain above it. I stare in awe at the beauty of it, my dad chats with the ranger and my husband stands in disbelief of what we are about to climb. Not only is he a tad out of shape, but he is also a tad afraid of heights. We begin the second leg of our journey to the peak of Borestone. At first, it is a fairly even trail through the woods, my dad happily whistles a Neil Young tune when he is not flapping his gums about the woods, the mountain, hiking, and anything else he can think of. I quietly enjoy the scenery and the time with my two favorite guys, walking behind my dad, while my husband lags behind me a bit, looking less than impressed.
We reach the steep part: the part when you need your arms as well to climb up some rock faces. My dad continues to talk and whistle, his breathing not even remotely labored as he climbs. I am a bit red faced and out of breath, but able to continue without a problem. I look back at my husband, who has stopped and is bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing very heavily and his face is as red as a lobster. My dad stops to see what the hold up is. "You alright kid?" my dad calls to my husband, "It is the journey and not the destination that matters" he says wisely. "Come on honey" I call to my husband, "You can do it, we are almost there, are you having fun?". My husband stands up and looking rather pissed off, states "This is fun?!?!?!?" I can't help but chuckle. I grew up doing this stuff with my dad all the time and have always loved it, my husband on the other hand, grew up riding motorcycles, which incidently doesn't require much physical fitness.
We finally reach the top to enjoy the view. It is fantastic. My dad goes on and on and my husband sits on a rock, refusing to look out over the edge. I am glad fot eh accomplishment and the view. My husband is just glad that he hasn't died yet.
We journey back down after taking a few pictures and admiring the view and what we had accomplished. My husband is very glad when we reach the car. He sits in the back seat and falls asleep after vowing never to hike again. I think that he is a brave man and a man who must really love me to do something that I really love with me and my dad, even though he hates it.
I made him a thick, juicy steak for supper when we got home. He said maybe he'd try it again in the future, just not that mountain again.
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