I checked on Coconut Monkey to make sure he was still alive before I left. He put on all the extra socks he had and a pair of moccasins to keep his feet warm last night. He said, “I’ll be okay if I can keep my feet warm.” I silently said a prayer, bid him goodbye, and wished him Godspeed. I left him sleeping at about daylight.

I couldn’t see Coconut Monkey’s tracks from when he came in the night before because about two feet of snow was on the ground. I gambled that the weather would get better, but it was still snowing and blowing. I was wrong. I felt pissed at myself for listening to the fearful people from Maine.

I prayed a foxhole prayer for God’s protection, “Lord if you get me through this storm, I will be a good boy from now on.”

The going was slow and exhausting. At times, I plowed through snow up to my waist. I was soaked from sweat, but I couldn’t stop to rest because I would freeze. I realized that fatigue may also be another unwanted enemy before the day was over.

White blazes marked the Appalachian Trail often, but normally I would follow the path beaten down by the hundreds of hikers before me. I mostly used the blazes to make sure that I was not lost on a side trail like Brave Heart. Today, I was having a hard time distinguishing the path in the deep snow, so I had to rely on the blazes that showed me the trail. I had to be careful to not get lost because I was not sure I could survive if I got lost in that big of storm. I backtracked every time I didn’t see a white blaze until I found the trail. It was like working out a puzzle that might be fun if I wasn’t so afraid.

I realized I would be late getting to the rendezvous with Scooter at Carvers Gap. I had no cell tower to warn her, so I hoped she wouldn’t be too worried. Then I started worrying if she could reach Carvers Gap in this storm with her new car.

I made it to the ascent up Beartown Mountain, which at fifty-four hundred feet high was good practice for Roan Mountain. I stopped to get a drink and discovered my water bottles had frozen solid. I was carrying four and a half pounds of ice. I considered tossing the extra weight, but it would be sacrilegious to litter on my beloved Appalachian Trail even considering the situation.

The trail cut through a Rhododendron thicket, which gave me a break. The snow was deep, but the trail was clearly visible and the bushes blocked the wind.

I somehow made it to the summit of Beartown and down into Ash Gap. I found a spring that was flowing, but I couldn’t filter water because my filter was frozen. I took a chance and drank unfiltered water directly from the spring. I desperately took on Roan Mountain at 6,285 feet high, which was only about another 1,000 feet up.

I found the going was steep, but again, the Rhododendron at the higher levels was thick enough that the path was visible. The going actually got easier as I ascended High Roan. I reached what I thought was the summit. I gave a yell of triumph and then gave thanks. I have to admit I was feeling ten feet tall and fairly bullet proof.

An eerie, uneasy feeling soon crept in because the trail didn’t descend as quickly as I thought it should. My jubilation was short-lived as I discovered my worst nightmare. When the wind let up for a moment, I could see what lay ahead of me. I stood there stunned by what appeared to be a snow and ice covered wall that reached up to disappear into the storm. I couldn’t describe the overwhelming fear I felt realizing I had been on a false summit and the worst was yet to come. I wondered if I would make it over this one.

I said a prayer, put my hiking poles in my pack, and started my assault on Roan. I took one-step at a time, one white blaze at a time, and one minute at a time. I focused on the trail, as my entire world became the next few feet. I could only see ahead about twenty feet, which may have been a blessing. It seemed that every time I was about to give up hope another friendly two by four inch white blaze would appear and mark my way. I reached the summit, but didn’t believe I was there until I started a steep descent.

The wind was calmer on this side of the mountain and the going became easier as I descended. I came upon the US Forest Service access road to Roan High Bluff. Snow choked the road, but I knew for sure I was on my way down and the worst was over.

My heart stopped cold when I discovered one-hundred-thirty little white crosses on display. They represented the people killed on Washington, mostly of hypothermia and lightning, but less than a week ago, a lady tourist fell while taking a picture. I guess they would have to add another little white cross for her. I left the museum because I didn’t want to psych myself out any more than I was already.

We didn’t fit in well with the tourists. A line of tourists was waiting to get their picture taken at the sign on the summit. Cedar Moe, which was so unlike him went to the front, cut in line, called me up to join him, and told a tourist take our picture,

We grasped our hands and held them above the sign with a feeling of accomplishment, as several tourists stood by and watched us pose.

The weather was cold, raining, and nasty, but we had no choice but to hike on for seven miles to the safety of Madison Hut, because camping on the summit of Mount Washington wasn't allowed. I could only see fifty feet into the white cloud as we left the summit.

Thru-hikers, traditionally mooned the train as it went past them on the mountain. We psyched ourselves into exposing ourselves to strangers, but when we heard the train go by, the fog was so thick the tourists wouldn’t have seen us anyway. We both were disappointed. Cedar Moe even said, “I shaved for nothing.”

We hiked as fast as we could over the rocks and up the mountains. Several hard miles on slippery rocks, above tree line, stood between us, and the safety of Madison Spring Hut. The trip would take six hours in the best of times, but that day with the weather, who knew. Silently we picked our way north. I became even more grateful for the comfort of Cedar Moe’s company and courage.

I thought things couldn’t be any worse when the weather temporarily cleared barely enough to see a dark cloud moving in below us on the mountain. The violent thunderstorm drifted in as we ascended Mount Adams. The storm cloud reminded me of a giant alien war ship in a science fiction movie, shooting at the mountain with bolts of lightning with thunder exploding immediately following, a little ways below us. I was afraid, so I caught up to Cedar Moe and shouted above the wind, “What should we do?” He said, “The first thing you always do is pray!” I stayed closer to him as we scurried along.

They warn you not to be above tree line in a lightning storm. The books and brochures all said to take cover below tree line. I thought, how the hell, do you do that? I knew I was in a bad situation to be in, but where could I go? We had been above tree line all day. We couldn't go back because it was way too far. We couldn't simply go off trail and run down the mountain to safety. We would fall off the mountain and that would kill us as dead as the lightning. The best strategy seemed to be to continue on to Madison Hut. I felt trapped.

The storm overtook us and engulfed us in a cloud so thick we only saw a few feet. The wind was gale force, and the lightning was coming in steady succession, seconds apart as if we were under fire from the alien war ship. You couldn’t see the lightning itself, only the flash accompanied by a deafening explosion.

I never panicked in my life, but I have been in some tight spots a few times where I was afraid I might panic. That day was one of those tight spots. I knew that to panic would be fatal, so I stopped, took a deep breath, and tried to get a grip on my fear.

I lost sight of Cedar Moe when I stopped and the milky white monster swallowed him only a few feet ahead. I hurried to catch him, but was careful not to run on the slippery, rugged terrain.

When I caught up to Cedar Moe, I grabbed hold of the back of his pack and spun him around. I was shocked when I saw his face because even in the gale winds his beard and heavy eyebrows were sticking straight out from all the static electricity in the air. At another time, I would have laughed because he looked like the cartoon character, Yosemite Sam. I shouted above the wind, “Okay what’s the second thing we should do?” He looked me in the eyes with a smile on his face and shouted back, “The second thing you always do is pray.” He then turned his attention back to the trail. Once again, I grabbed him, spun him around again, and shouted, “Okay, okay what’s the third thing we do?” He shouted, “Pray!” He then firmly slapped my shoulder as if to say, “You can do this.” I finally took the hint and prayed.

I saw the difference between Cedar Moe’s attitude and mine towards the same situation. He had been praying and had faith that God was with us; I was full of fear and felt alone. I was afraid and he was cheerful. I realized the difference was fear and faith. I felt fearful and tried to control the situation myself by worrying and it wasn’t working. I didn’t know why I never figured it out before, but worrying never helped in any situation. Cedar Moe had faith, let go, and left the control all up to God. In Alcoholics Anonymous they often said, “Fear and faith can’t live in the same house.” Cedar Moe trusted God to protect him. I was afraid God wouldn’t protect me. I thought the lesson I learned was to replace fear with faith and trust in God.

I remembered another Alcoholics Anonymous slogan that said, “Let go and let God.” I remembered that in Step Eleven of Alcoholics Anonymous said, “Praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry it out.” I remembered that in the little white Bible in the book of Luke 23:46 it said, that Jesus’ actual last words that he said on the cross were, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” I remembered the words which we said at the end of every Alcoholics Anonymous meeting when we said the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

Another lesson on this hike made sense as my fear seemed to melt away. Even in the midst of the most violent storm I had ever been in, a feeling of calmness came over me as if the Holy Spirit reached out and touched me. That time I recognized what I believed to be a spiritual awakening as it happened. I stopped, looked up to heaven and simply said, “Thy will be done.” Lightning exploded as if God himself said, “Are you sure?” I smiled, looked up and said, “Whatever.”

Intellectually, I always knew this life would end one day anyway. If my hike ended that day on Mount Adams then that would be my last day. Besides, lightning seemed like a good way to go out. Lightning probably would hurt real bad, but not for very long. I wasn't the one that was in control of such things anyway and I never was.

One of the major reasons I decided to thru-hike was for the adventure and that day provided an adventure that I would remember for a long time. I surely wasn't bored with things, but maybe in the future, I should be more careful about what I asked for.

I hurried to catch up to Cedar Moe because I didn’t want to lose him in the storm. The wind blew a brief opening in our gray blindfold to expose a view of Mount Adams, which even at a mile away looked intimidating. I stopped Cedar Moe and asked the stupid question “Do we have to go over the summit?” He smiled and slapped me affectionately on the shoulder. I took it as a show of confidence that I could do it. He then turned his attention back to the trail without saying a word above the wind. I smiled and took the time to get my camera out and took a picture of the mighty mountain before the gray monster swallowed it back up.

We continued towards the majestic Mount Adams. Cedar Moe paused to read a sign posted on the trail and then turned towards me to cheerfully announce in his high pitched Tennessee twang, “We’re going over the top.’’ I smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, knowing all the time we were going to go over the top.

We trudged over the top of Adams as the storm stole any views we would have enjoyed on a clear day. I stopped and took Cedar Moe’s picture in the rocky terrain when the mountain flattened out near the summit.

I caught him on film between two ten foot cairns spaced about twenty yards apart to mark a place fittingly called Thunderstorm Junction. I wanted to show the density of the dark gray cloud from its belly.

I arrived at the east branch of the Pleasant River. I was a little worried about the ford, but found the river as laid back as the day. I hopped from rock to rock across the lazy river and didn't even get my feet wet.

A cow moose was feeding in a calm little pool downstream. She raised her head from the lily pads she was feeding on long enough to notice me. I took pictures and moved on without disturbing Miss Moose.

A couple hours later, I stopped at a small glacier pond framed with white pines, thinking, this was a perfect picture of serenity. I impulsively dropped my pack because it was the perfect place to set up camp on a lazy afternoon.

I set my tent up amongst the driftwood and a few white pine tree skeletons on a secluded beach, only feet from the water’s edge. I made sure I was out of sight of anyone that might pass by on the trail.

The slightly hazy afternoon sky let the sun shine through the trees enough to dry my gear in the gentle breeze that barely wrinkled the lake’s surface. The north shore of the lake was covered with older white pine trees, spaced sparsely enough that they provide cover, but their lower branches had died and fallen off years ago to yield an open view of distant details in the open woods.

I took a picture of my tent on the beach littered with Mother Nature’s debris of fallen sticks and pinecones. The sun gave my tent a translucent appearance of being a warm and friendly, yet protective.

Most often, I welcome company, but today I wanted to be alone. I didn't want to isolate; it’s almost the opposite because I wanted to invite the spirit to join me alone in this perfect place.

Satisfied that everything was perfect, I blew up my air mattress, took my clothes off, and walked into the lake. The water was warm enough that it didn’t shock me, but cool enough it had a numbing effect on my painful ankle.

I laid on my mattress and felt the coolness of the water on the front of my body and the warmth of the sun on my back. I simply focused on the subtle sound of the water lapping on my body and the sweet smell of pines.

Eventually the water lowered my body temperature enough that I became uncomfortable so I decided to return to the beach. I was surprised at how far off shore I drifted when I opened my eyes. The swim back to camp invigorated me, so it was all good.

I pulled the mattress on the shore and laid naked as the sun melted my goose bumps away. I purposely listened for the spirit to speak to me at the perfect camp. One of the Twelve Promises that immediately stuck out said, “We will no longer regret the past or wish to shut the door on it.” I closed my eyes and pondered, “What did Bill mean, when he wrote that promise?

I wonder if all the horrendous things that I did, all the pain and suffering I caused to the folks I loved, was part of my journey. Maybe all the humiliation I felt due to my behavior was part of my education through the Two by Four University of Hard Knocks. After all, pain was the motivation for me to seek out God in the first place. I wondered if all the things I did that I deeply regretted were necessary for me to know what I knew through my own experience.

I had one of those little awakenings when the things I heard for years in Alcoholics Anonymous suddenly made sense. The second part of Step Twelve said, “We tried to carry this message to others.” Alcoholics Anonymous had a slogan that said, “If you want to show your gratitude, you have to give it away to keep it.” I always felt spiritually strongest when I carried the message to not only the suffering addict, but anytime I carried God’s message to anyone.

I became both a student and a teacher. Part of my purpose in life was to give freely what I received. I shared my personal experience with other addicts, so I could help them gain the hope that if I could recover, so could they. The Traditions of Alcoholics Anonymous clearly stated, “Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety.” We learned to share our personal experience, strength, and hope with others so we could solve our common problem.

I must have fallen asleep because the sun was dropping when I awoke. I quickly put on my clothes, not because I felt modest or cold, but to protect my bare ass from squadrons of Mother Nature’s flying vampires that I expected would attack before it got dark.

I cooked tuna and noodles for supper and went to the water’s edge to eat while I watched the sunset. I could see a vista of White Capp Mountain, which was seven miles in the distance. The smooth, mirror surface of the lake reflected the silhouette of the proud mountain standing in front of the reddish orange background of the sky. As I gazed at the reflection framed by the natural pines of the north. I realized that what I was looking at in awe was exactly as it had been from the time God created this world.

That might have been the message the author of the blue weather-beaten sign that greeted hikers at the border meant to send when he posted, “Welcome to Maine, the way life should be.” I thought this was the way, at least some of our world should be. The way it was before the days when the white man came and destroyed so much of God’s creation with his greed for money, property, and prestige.

I watched the sunset but suddenly felt uneasy. Maybe I fell asleep before the spirit was finished talking to me earlier today. Maybe the spirit wanted me to use my gifts from my experience to help others like the Appalachian Mountain Club defend Mother Nature from the capitalistic right.

The stars came out, turning a beautiful sunset into a spectacular panoramic view of more of the wonders of God. I would have liked to continued to listen, but unfortunately, the mosquitoes, which were also God’s creatures, came out and forced me to retire to my tent.

I was physically exhausted from the rigors of my day, but mentally I was far too stimulated to sleep, wondering how I could ever defend our environment. I guess, like David, I didn’t need to know how, I only needed to be willing, have faith, and eventually, God would reveal more.

The day was truly beautiful all day long in every way.