David Emerson, of Old Ways Traditions in Canterbury, is a woodworker.

The last years of our serious mountain hiking were on Lowe’s Path up Mount Adams. Lowe’s Path is one of the more strenuous climbs in the White Mountains and Adams is second only to Mount Washington in height.

Anne and I still had the strength and energy to backpack what we needed to stay over at Grey Knob Hut at tree line plus the clothing and equipment to be safe above the tree line. The summit of Mount Adams pokes up into the jet stream (just barely)!

Lowe’s Path was built by the Lowe family. They still maintain some rather decrepit guest cabins where we’d occasionally stayed before going up as well as a small general store which they lived above and gas station and garage which boasted the largest wrecker in the north country.

We’d park at Lowe’s, cross Route 2 to where the trail started, then through a bit of nondescript woods, go over the railroad tracks and start up into open forest of large beech and maple trees which before long shielded us from the traffic sounds on Route 2.

Lowe’s is a long trail with distinctive stretches; very mixed woods, thick, dark evergreens dense spruce and hemlock up above. It’s gradual at first, then changes to slabbing up switchbacks then ultimately turning to go straight up the fall line with sections of rocky scrambling between the impenetrable spruce woods beside it. Once a three-toed woodpecker followed along beside me there as it harvested bugs from bark. It showed no fear.

At one transitional point, a huge hemlock had fallen beside the path, its extensive root structure extending well above my head and somewhat into the pathway. It reminded me of a substantial ornate wrought iron gate, the gateway to the deep woods.

In spring there would be trillium blooming at the start of the trail and, at treeline, buds on birch krumholtz barely opening. Treeline opens up to a different world. The first viewpoint is off a bare ledge looking across a deep ravine to the steep mountain wall of Jefferson. The ravine forms a funnel compressing the strong west winds into a powerful updraft, a venturi. I’ve watched ravens drop into this updraft and tumble down through sometimes grabbing each other’s talons and somersaulting together.

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I don’t think I’ve ever seen any living thing having more fun. Climbing up out of another slot of trail through the thick spruce woods, then up over some rocky outcrops the world opens up around you with the broad reach of Adams summit before you.

It’s memorable up there, I’ve been in winds that forced me to crawl. And snowdrifts I “swam” rather than walked through. Being the only one up there is the best. Surrounded by peaks, spirits your only company, occasionally a white throat. And endless views. Perhaps I’ll end up there forever, a free spirit.