New Hampshire, Part Two

Saturday morning. Early.

I get dressed according to my best guess about how I’ll be feeling in three hours. You’re always colder when you first wake up, and then you only warm up slightly before you really start moving. So standing in your hotel room at six in the morning, you have to resist the urge to layer up too much. At the same time, you don’t want to skimp, because while adding a fleece sweater or vest is easy to do on the trail, changing your base layer is not. I go with my newest Patagonia expedition weights, snow pants, gaiters, a thin wind resistant vest, and my shell jacket. I tuck an extra Capilene sweater in my pack, along with my parka. I start with a fleece cap, but have a much thicker fleece balaclava that I know I’ll be putting on before breaking above the tree line. I start with fleece glove liners but have heavy mittens for later. Finally, my feet are wrapped in expedition wool socks and then bound into hard shell mountaineering boots.

My pack has a mixed bag of emergency supplies that I put at the very bottom, with the parka and sweater above, and then I top the pack off with some food, the balaclava, and the mittens. In the top compartment I put another bit of food, my headlamp, and my goggles. I consider bringing my snowshoes, but our ice climbing guides yesterday tried to dissuade us of carrying the extra weight because they thought it wasn’t worth it. And since on the basis of that advice the other guys didn’t bother to rent snowshoes, I figure I’ll stick with the crowd and leave them behind. Finally, I attach my crampon bag, water bottle (in an insulating sleeve), and ice axe to the outside of the pack. I’m ready.

Downstairs I meet the last two members of the team – Jessica and Sue. We decide that they’ll carpool to the trailhead with Chris and me, and everyone saddles up. Jessica and Sue are friends from college, and met Nancy the previous year on a climb of Rainier. We spend the thirty minute ride to the trailhead getting acquainted, and I like them both immediately.

We arrive at the trailhead and everyone assembles in the lodge, which is where climbers must register and, unsurprisingly, where they have a souvenir shop and snack bar. Now everyone takes another chance to evaluate how we packed our things and dressed ourselves, and make any significant changes. There’s a topographical diorama of the mountain with the trails marked, and those of us who are new to the mountain study our route. The stretch before a rocky outcropping called the Lion’s Head looks impressively steep.

Snow is falling and even here at the bottom a decent wind is blowing. Everyone pauses by the trailhead sign for a team photo, and then we’re off. Within a quarter mile I regret not bringing the snow shoes. Another mile later and regret is too modest a word. We stop once along the way to instruct the mountaineering first-timers with us on the skill of ice axe self-arrest. It shouldn’t be an issue, but as we get back on the trail from the lesson, I think only Austin and Victoria really paid close enough attention and took enough practice flops that they stand a chance of doing it right if it matters. I just hope I’m not below Tim if he goes, because Tim is a big fellow.

Before long it becomes patently obvious that everyone else is much more fit than me. Before this climb, Chris had mentioned that Paul competes in triathlons, and I asked Chris if this was going to be true of everyone on the team. He insisted that no, this would not be the case, and in the most literal sense he was correct. However, his answer was nevertheless as good as useless because what I learned over the weekend was that those who hadn’t competed in triathlons had competed in marathons or one hundred mile bicycle races. I was the only person, as far as I was able to learn, that hadn’t done at least one of the three.

Overall, this isn’t really a concern, because they’re just moving faster. I have years of experience at managing my energy over long and high hikes, and I just set my pace and stick to it, knowing that it will get me to the top as it always does. Tim and Doug seem to be having a little trouble with the pace of the leaders, but they’re determined to try and keep up. I hope that eventually they’ll settle into a slower pace with me, both so that I have some company and so that they don’t get two thirds of the way to the summit and have nothing left in reserve. Patrick eventually drifts back to keep us linked in with the main group and make sure we’re doing okay.

A problem begins to develop for me, though, and one that is exasperated with each leg of the climb. Because of the cold, the group cannot remain waiting in one place for very long. This means that each time that I reach a waypoint the group almost immediately picks up and moves on. I’m forced to choose between adjusting gear and clothing, drinking, and eating, because the breaks only afford me enough time to do one. Normally I’d stick to my plan and just keep falling further behind, knowing that I’ll get to the top on my own terms, but on this mountain and in these conditions it’s not practical. Visibility will be limited above the tree line, and the trail will be hard to follow – especially for a novice on this route. Furthermore, the conditions up there will be dangerous, and thus the group wants to maintain cohesion for everyone’s safety. So I keep pressing on, pushing the boundary of a sustainable pace for me and depriving myself of water and food in the quantities that I need them.

Probably the peak of my energy problem occurs when we pause to start up the steep section leading to the Lion’s Head. Everyone else has already been on a long break when I arrive, and have transitioned into their gear for above the tree line. I rush through the steps of adding my balaclava, mittens, and crampons, and unhooking my ice axe. I get some water, but no food. The others are already on the move, so off I go. Tim, Doug, and Patrick are with me, and for awhile it’s easy to keep pace with the others because climbers coming down the narrow trail are causing frequent pauses. Eventually, though, the others get well in front. Patrick is now determined to hold back with the rest of us because he knows the trail to the summit beyond the tree line and the rest of us don’t.

The climbing along this stretch is especially grueling at times, because the snow is a dry, soft powder a couple of feet deep, but unevenly distributed. And the depth is not quite enough to completely cover the contours of the ground beneath it, but enough to mask those contours. So with each step you don’t know if you’ll plunge in up to your hip, or step on a rock that is only a few inches below the snow surface. Even more unbalancing is when you try and plant your ice axe and hit a drift of powder; it’s all you can do not to fall right over.

As we get near the tree line, we pause one last time. I can see Paul is just ahead of us with most of his pack’s content spread out around him. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t seem to be in distress so I figure maybe the weight hadn’t been balanced well. I shove a bunch of food in me, drink some water, and put on my goggles.

Houston, we have a problem. My goggles had been resting on my forehead this entire time, and had I been thinking I wouldn’t have let that happen. The whole way to this point, condensation has been forming on the inside of the goggles because of the heat coming off of my head. In the time that it took me to move the goggles from my forehead to my eyes, that brief second or two of exposure to the air, the condensation froze. I spend a couple of minutes doing the best I can to clear the ice crystals off of the goggles, but there’s still a dotted rime across them that won’t come off for any effort. Still, I have visibility that is good enough not to walk off a cliff, and so I press on.

Above the tree line, there’s sleet and the heavy blanket of a cloud wrapped around the entire mountain. The wind is howling at sustained speeds of sixty to eighty miles an hour and gusting between one hundred and one hundred twenty miles an hour. The sleet is driving into us horizontally, and I can only imagine what it would feel like if any of my skin was exposed to it. Conversation is only possible by shouting, and only within a few feet of the person you’re shouting to.

At this point, I’m able to catch up to and stay with the rest of the group, because the winds are preventing anyone from moving very fast. You take a few steps, and gust slams you and you hold on until it passes. A few people are knocked over with each gust, and most of us slide down a few feet during the pauses, as the thick powdery snow just collapses under our weight.

Now some people are showing signs of fatigue. The wind has a demoralizing effect because of how much harder it makes the climbing. Tim falls a couple of times and stays down, only rising once Patrick coaxes him back to his feet. Tim, Doug, Patrick, and I are now leapfrogging each other, and Jessica has fallen back to the boundary of our group. Visibility is ten feet at best. Whenever Doug or Tim falls, Patrick checks on them. When Jessica falls, I check on her – she’s cuter than Doug or Tim. She’s doing fine, and I hope that I’m not coming across as patronizing, but at the same time this is not the place to be blasé about anyone’s condition.

We’re ascending a section of exposed rock – scramble class, not technical – and Jessica loses a crampon. The strap keeps it attached to her boot, but it’s dangling uselessly. Worse than useless, really, because she could easily get caught on it or trip over it. Mike and I get her attention and help her come down from the rocks. Another group of climbers is trying to move by, so I quickly dig a small bench in the snow to the side of the trail and Jessica sits in it. Mike moves on, and I descend a few steps to where I can work on her crampon. There’s little chance she could do much with it herself, because the goggles reduce your peripheral vision and everything else we’re wearing narrows that even further. I take a look at the crampon and fortunately I’m familiar with the type, so I get it reattached without much fuss and before my hands freeze up from being out of the mittens.

The conditions were so disorienting that Jessica didn’t know who I was at that moment, and only after the climb did she find out that it was me that had helped her with the crampon. By the same turn, I learned after the climb that it had been Doug, not Mike that had helped me get her attention and get her down from the rocks.

We resume climbing and very quickly reach the others, who are taking a rest at the Lion’s Head. For a tantalizing moment, the cloud cover breaks and we can see out across New Hampshire. Chris, Paul, and Mike return from scouting ahead and tell us that the conditions beyond this point are worse than what we’ve already faced. The wind gusts that have knocked us around are the sustained winds up ahead, and visibility is pretty much nonexistent. It doesn’t take much deliberating to decide to turn back. The conditions are so bad that even if we managed to keep advancing, we would never reach the top before our turnaround time would force the issue. We gather together for a group photo marking the high point of our attempt, and then begin descending.

The descent offers little relief from the ascent, because on the way down the uneven snow and ground are more dangerous than on the way up. Post-holing with one leg on the way down is much more likely to end in a broken leg or ankle, while dropping your axe into deep powder is more likely to result in a fall. The high winds only exacerbate this risk by turning just about every moment of imbalance into a fall. The main group again gets way out in front of me, beyond my visible range, but Tim and Patrick are behind me as Tim is having a hard time staying on his feet with his height and weight in these conditions.

Eventually we reach the cover of trees once again, and I catch up to Doug and Mike, who decide to glissade. I assess the situation and don’t think glissading is a very smart idea, given the very tight turns along this route. But the other two are off like a shot and so I decide that glissading might be my only way to keep up with everyone else. Normally I’d take my crampons off to avoid the possibility of sticking one and blowing out my knee, but I decide that I’ll leave them on to encourage myself to keep my speed very low. I watch Doug tearing off down the trail behind Mike and wonder if Doug isn’t following Mike too closely. I question whether Doug will be able to stop in time if Mike suddenly puts the brakes on. If he can’t, Mike will have a dozen or so stab wounds for his troubles. It then occurs to me that above me, glissading at this moment is Tim. Tim who is six foot four and two hundred twenty or more pounds. Tim who has never glissaded or, more importantly, self-arrested before in his life. Tim who is still wearing his crampons. I realize that I’m the one that is far more likely to wind up with a dozen stab wounds – deep ones. I glissade faster.

Glissading is an option only for a short stretch, and so no calamities happen. The descent takes on the plodding nature that most descents have. Most of the rest of the way down, Tim and I keep company and everyone else has long since vanished ahead of us. We cover a wide range of subjects as we walk along, but the most amazing discovery that we make is that we both attended the same university and were even members of the same fraternity – eleven years apart. We eventually reach the lodge and it seems like everyone else has been waiting there for an hour.

In the main room I find Chris, Nancy, Maggie, Sue, Jessica, Victoria, and Austin. Apart from Chris, they all seem very indifferent to my return. Whereas moments before Tim and I had become fast friends and loyal teammates, now the looks I get seem decidedly unwelcoming. I’m not sure where the other guys are at this point, but very quickly I get the feeling that I don’t belong in this room with these people.

I can’t help but notice that it’s all of the women in here and not the guys. One thing I have often wondered is whether women are more judgmental than men, or if they are just more judgmental of men (and maybe men are too, of women), or whether there’s no difference at all but what we perceive – and we perceive a greater judgmental attitude from the opposite gender because we fear it more. I suspect that the latter is the true answer, but whatever the reality, this moment is awkward; I feel out of place, inadequate, and I want to go stand on the porch by myself.

Shortly after everyone emerges from the lodge and we head for the cars. I keep to myself at first, but Sue turns and waits for me, and instantly dispels my developing mood by talking about how the day went. I guess I was just being paranoid. It happens.

The ride back to the hotel is occupied with another good conversation, and I really like Jessica and Sue now. We retire to our rooms for a couple of hours before dinner, and I wash up and make a few phone calls to people that I know were worried that this climb was dangerous. I spread my gear out all over the room to dry out, and then read for a bit before catching a brief nap.

Dinner is at an Indian restaurant, the traditional conclusion to this annual trip. We get a few beers in us and the conversations are quickly loud and lively. The next couple of hours are pure magic, and we go from being companions or colleagues to being friends and teammates. After dinner, the ladies all drive off for the hotel but the guys decide to stop off at a pub on the way for one last round. Nancy calls while we’re there and we all agree to meet up around eight Sunday morning to say goodbye before heading in our separate directions.

I get back to my room and decide to pack before turning in. I’m not especially tired or sore. My knees are the unhappiest part of me, from all the effort of keeping me upright through the wind and deep powder above the tree line. Mostly I’m in pretty good shape.

*               *               *

Sunday, we bid farewell. Mike has collected everyone’s e-mail addresses so that we can keep in touch. It’s hard to think that it will be an entire year before we meet again, but for most of us that’s how it will be. Some of us might never meet again, because who can really say what changes in our lives or simple twists of fate might prevent that from happening? It doesn’t seem right to me; I’ve never had much hesitation about letting someone drift away when a friendship has failed, but it seems like good friendships should never end if life is truly fair. I’m old enough, though, to understand that this is just how life is sometimes, that one backward glance from the car as you pull away becomes the last moment that will connect you. I don’t like this part of life, but I accept it.

And so the weekend comes to a close with an uneventful drive and flight home, and life resumes its normal pace. For a few days, that pace feels smothering in dullness. I want more adventure, more time with the new friends I’ve made. But in time I recall the great friends that I have here, and the reason that I enjoy so many of the routine parts of my life. Yet I know that the mountains will call again, soon enough. And I will heed them.

New Hampshire, Part One

This story got kind of long, so I figured I’d break it into two parts for easier reading and faster turnaround as far as publishing it up here. The first part is the prologue and the story of Friday, when we went ice climbing. The second, which will go up in a couple days, is the story of Saturday and the attempt on Mount Washington, plus an epilogue of sorts.

It’s all told in the present tense, which I like to use when relating personal stories; I think it creates an easier window for the imagination by placing you in the moment. Or I could be full of shit. Whatever the case, here’s part one.

*               *               *

Chris and I arrive in Manchester around seven at night, having taken the short and cheap flight from Philadelphia that both Southwest and U.S. Airways run a startling number of times a day.

On this occasion, we used Southwest. I have no idea how to board a Southwest airplane. Their method, supposedly an industry innovation in efficiency, makes as much sense to the novice as baccarat. But somehow I got on the plane, grabbed a window seat toward the back, and Chris followed suit the row behind me. The plane was fully booked, so in due time my row filled up, but with two very pleasant people. The woman seated in the middle was a business rewards passenger, or some similar designation. What mattered was that she had free booze tickets and she offered to share. So the trip began with me winning the beer lottery, and therefore seemed destined for great things.

The sky was clear on the flight up, so I never bothered to open my book and just took in the view below. We passed alongside Philadelphia, up New Jersey, and then just over Manhattan on our way to Manchester. The sight of it all was mesmerizing - at once horrifying for the sprawl of human civilization but also prideful in a sense, that our species has achieved such an unparalleled command of its world. Manhattan just looked cool.

But I was saying we were in Manchester. We meet up with Paul, a previous member of this annual climb on Mount Washington. I won’t be the only rookie for long, though. We hop in the rental car and hit the road for North Conway, planning to stop in Concord somewhere for a decent dinner. I had been under the impression that Chris and Paul knew each other fairly well, but as we drive along I realize that this is probably the only context in which they’ve come to know each other.

Paul is an interesting guy. He’s very obviously a driven individual, but not the sort that is at all judgmental of others. Over dinner I quickly notice that he’s a very keen observer, and not in a casual way, but deliberately. Everything seems to have the potential to be useful knowledge to him. I can’t quite figure out where his sense of humor lies just yet, but he’s good company.

We get checked into the hotel in North Conway and part ways for the evening, with a plan to meet in the hotel’s breakfast lounge at around seven thirty in the morning. To the extent possible, I ready my pack and set out my clothes for the next day, because I know it will take me twice as long to do it while bleary eyed and incoherent tomorrow morning. I set the alarm for seven, not sure if I want to bother to shower before heading out ice climbing. One part of me says that it will help wake me up, and the other part says that sleeping will help wake me up. No part of me cares what I might smell like.

*                    *                    *

I wake up at quarter past seven. My alarm didn’t go off. I flip the switch and look at the alarm time, and I clearly set it for seven, and keeping in mind that the A.M. light was lit. I flip back to the time and notice that the clock thinks it’s seven P.M. This is the last time I trust this clock for anything.

No shower, not even an option now. I freshen up and head downstairs and meet the rest of today’s team. Patrick, Doug, and Tim have all come up from Philadelphia like Chris and me, and Mike – Paul’s brother – has driven up from I don’t know where exactly. All of us are scheduled to go out with three guides from IMCS and ice climb. We get over to their office around eight thirty, sign waivers, pay our fees, get sized for gear, and then head out with our guides for a waterfall in the nearby White Mountain National Forest. I forget the name of the falls now, but we drive about fifteen minutes to get to the trail and then hike in a mile or two along a snow-covered trail to reach them. It’s pleasantly warm out, just below freezing, and there’s a snowstorm in the forecast.

At the falls, one of our guides, Baird – a perfect name for a mountain guide if ever there was one – quickly scales up them and starts setting up fixed ropes for us to use. The other two guides, Peter and Silas, start instructing us on the basic technique. Before long we’re tying in, axes in hand and crampons on feet, and taking our first cracks at it. I get roped in on the far right of the falls, which has the shortest section of ice – about thirty feet high – but some tricky formations. With Peter belaying and instructing me, I start going to work.

The first lesson I learn comes quickly, and it is that I am extremely right-handed. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that this might be challenging before, but now I’m getting a good laugh at myself every time I try and plant my left axe and need twice as many whacks to get a solid placement as I do with my right hand. It becomes less funny when I realize that I also have about half the endurance as I do with my right hand, and I begin to wonder how I’ll even hold on with my left hand. But, slowly but surely, with emphasis on the slowly, I scale the formation and top out. I rappel down, feeling confident that this is going to be a fun day.

I tackle two more routes during our time out there, and belay a couple times for others. The snow rolls in around noon and adds some great atmosphere. Everyone in our group proves themselves to be quick students of the sport, at least in its basic form. When we watch the guides climb, we realize how much there is yet to learn. The most important lesson is that even the fittest person on Earth is going to have trouble climbing for long on pure strength. You have to learn to place your feet and hands well, to strike efficiently with your axes, and to balance yourself in positions that are the least taxing. Everything is about being efficient in your movement, and somewhat ironically, this requires you to move slower than you instinctively want to. By staying in balance and remaining deliberate in your choice of tool placements and footholds, you ultimately use less energy than if you just try and bull your way up the wall before running out of gas. Philosophically, it’s all very similar to rock climbing. The technique, however, is full of important differences.

Between the climbs and belaying, we start getting to know each other. We start with short bits of conversation while eating or drinking between climbs, but pretty soon we start cheering each other on in our climbs and bonding like a proper team should.

Mike is one of those people that you just like immediately. He’s not especially outspoken, but he’s very gregarious nonetheless, and he has that rare ability to convince everyone that he likes them and thinks highly of them, without ever saying a word to that effect.

Doug I don’t talk with very much, nor Tim on this day, but the next day we’ll get much better acquainted. Both of them are friendly and enthusiastic, though, and contribute to the outstanding esprit de corps that we enjoy all day.

I spend some time talking with Patrick, and he belays me on my last climb of the day. He reminds me of Chris in many ways, and it’s obvious to me how they came to be friends. Patrick has a way of looking after people that doesn’t make them feel like they’re being patronized – which is often no small feat among grown men.

We hike back out in what is now a pure blizzard, and love every minute of it. The woods are blanketed in white; apart from our footsteps, everything is tranquil, still. The forest is ours alone for a time.

Back at the IMCS office, we turn in the rental gear, tip our very deserving guides, and a couple of the guys rent some equipment for tomorrow’s ascent of Mount Washington. I talk with Peter about climbing in Ecuador, as he mentioned earlier that he’s climbed several of the big volcanic peaks down there. I get his card, and perhaps there’s a trip in the future there.

The team parts ways for a few hours – we have an eight o’clock dinner reservation – and I return to my hotel room, shower, and start readying my pack for tomorrow’s climb. I fear a nap, because I want to fall asleep early tonight, so I brew some coffee with that little four cup coffee maker they put in your room. I put in about three cups of water, a little less, and the result is a surprisingly passable drink.

We rendezvous in the lobby to head out for dinner, and meet four more members of tomorrow’s climbing team – Nancy, Maggie, Austin, and Victoria. Two more are on their way, having flown in from Chicago, but due to the storm that we were enjoying while playing on frozen waterfalls in the woods, they are now stuck in a traveler’s nightmare of flight delays and poor road conditions. I almost feel guilty for enjoying the blizzard as much as I did. I said ‘almost’.

Dinner is at an Italian restaurant. I’m really in the mood for a steak, but tomorrow is a big day so I carbo load with some fettucine. One half of the group drinks beer and the other half drinks wine. I realize that I’ve actually become so fond of wine over the past couple of years that I’m completely torn between the two. Eventually the chance to drink a local microbrew tilts me in favor of beer. The conversation over dinner is interesting. Victoria and Austin strike me as very friendly, though one of the first things Austin says is a dig against Philadelphia. Actually, it’s more than a dig, because digs are generally just in fun, and this remark is serious. Austin also dislikes New York and Boston, though, and explains that he thinks the quality of a city is inversely proportional to the enthusiasm of its sports fans. It’s an interesting theory, but I wonder if Austin just isn’t a west coast kind of guy. Maggie seems uninterested in talking to people that she doesn’t already know. That’s my initial impression, at least. Nancy is equally tough to read, but seems like the sort who just takes some time to warm up to people.

Dinner ends and we part ways once again in the lobby of the hotel. I set my cell phone as my alarm this time and, after setting out my gear and clothes for tomorrow, fall asleep easily.

 Man vs. Wild

I went to New Hampshire expecting a good adventure and got just that, and more still. I think it may take me some time to put all the words together, because this was more than a physical journey; it became a personal one.

After this weekend I must acknowledge that my life can never be the same. I can take what I have learned and embrace the challenge it poses, or I can ignore it. But ignoring it will not render it untrue. And so I can accept a lie and carry on, or I can decide to do what I must. It's a little late in life to start becoming the person that I'm supposed to be, but I do believe that it is better late than never.

I might have more to say about that, or I might not. It might go deeper than I'm willing to talk about. I will say more about the adventure, which was grand and fun and as always has left me starving for more.

The short version is that Mount Washington denied me the summit - the first mountain I have ever tried to hike or climb to do so. I'll be back there next year to even the score. For now, I'm actually kind of glad to have been turned back. Maybe I was getting too cocky.

I posted some photos here and there'll be more to come as other people from my group share theirs.

The Beauty Pageant, Part 1

I think it’s time for me to weigh in with my opinions about the candidates for President and how they’ve been doing so far. Tonight, the Democrats:

Hillary Clinton

I really can’t stand her. I don’t want to get into enumerating her many offenses in my book, but the biggest problem I have with her is that her chief rivals are completely correct that she seems bent on fighting yesterday’s battles. The fact is, Bush is irrelevant now. Rove is despised by a great many Americans. There is nothing to be won by charging into Washington with a chip on your shoulder and trying to stick it to the Republicans. Just look at Congress for fuck’s sake. Meanwhile, there’s much to be gained by extending a hand to the Republicans and trying to work with them in a forward-looking manner. First, you’ll actually get some things done; second, you give the Republicans a reason to pull away from the far right fringe of their constituency. She doesn’t understand this, or, she does and she’s still thinking about scoring partisan points by keeping the Republicans isolated within the ranks of their more lunatic followers. Either way, it’s bad news if she becomes President.

As far as her campaign, I think she’s begging to lose. That’s not to say that she will. Americans can be an incredibly cynical lot and she’ll most certainly work that angle hard. Iowa was an understandable situation for her, but why she challenged so hard for New Hampshire is beyond me. Some are saying that it paid off for her, but I disagree. The crying gambit was a useful play, but you get diminishing returns, if not a backlash, the more you reach for that device. I would have saved it for a day or two before Super Tuesday, when there’ll be serious delegates at stake. Meanwhile, she complains that Edwards and Obama are ganging up on her, but if she just laid low until February those two would have no choice but to go after each other – and in fact Edwards would be so close to winning he could taste it and would pour himself into knocking Obama off. Instead, she’s expended a ton of energy, time, money, and political capital to end up with the same number of delegates and about four percent more of the vote in New Hampshire. A foolish waste in my opinion. But hey, who am I to complain if she wants to play to lose?

Barack Obama

This is the guy I’m behind, on the Democratic side and quite possibly for the general election. He is, I admit, quite a gamble. If he wins, he has about nine months to attempt something bold. This will require him to basically go all in with his political capital, and his reelection prospects will seem as remote as an extrasolar planet seen through the Hubble telescope if he fails. Clinton (Bill, that is), faced a similar situation when he was elected, and he put his chips back in his pocket, and expended them years later on a blow job in the Oval Office. He lived in fortunate times, and with (apparent) peace breaking out everywhere and the economy rising during the dot com bubble, you’d think Clinton was a genius based on the fact that he was smart enough not to get in the way of progress. Obama will not be blessed with such luck. The world abroad is dangerous and growing more so, and the economy is about to hit some seriously rough water. So he’s going to have to play some seriously bold hands, or he’ll be toast before his first term is up. I’m less worried about the inexperience issue that seems to be everyone else’s favorite target. He strikes me as (and by most reports from former colleagues is) a very capable person at working with people of all persuasions and views, and I think he’ll be able to make the best of bad situations by reaching out for help and getting it.

His campaign is, unfortunately, heading for disaster. He’s needlessly recruiting the youth vote. Needless, I say, because they will abandon you to play some Ultimate in the park if the weather is too nice on Election Day (witness New Hampshire) and because they will vote for him anyway if they do happen to stumble upon a polling station on the right day. Meanwhile, he’s letting Hillary run off with the people who really vote in droves – senior citizens and housewives. If he falls in South Carolina he’s in real trouble. The hot air from Iowa will have escaped through the holes punched in the balloon, and come Super Tuesday he will get crushed in all of the closed primary states – not merely defeated, as is his fate now. I wish none of this were true, but I’m afraid it is. Still, he and Hillary both have a chance of winning the nomination by the good graces of the other’s bad decisions. I doubt anyone else will be able to knock them both off.

John Edwards

I don’t really feel one way or another about this guy. I guess it’s because he doesn’t seem to be poised to win no matter how things play out. He does, however, have some serious kingmaker potential and that warrants a close look at his followers. I don’t intend to do that here, because I haven’t done the research. I’m just saying, you know…

I think the big question is, when does Edwards get out? Right now you’d have to assume that most people in his court would jump to Obama as a knee jerk reaction. But would they stay? I think they’d be fair game after a couple of days, and that means that if Edwards does want to trade his support for a second go at the Vice Presidency, he’ll need to pull the deal a day or two before Super Tuesday. That would give Obama the likeliest chance of sweeping up all of Edwards’ supporters before Hillary can talk to them. Edwards could stay in it longer, though, and maybe he’s not interested in the Vice Presidency; and maybe neither Obama or Hillary is willing to pay him that fee for his votes. Still, it seems like the most obvious play for a guy whose numbers are strong, but not strong enough.

Dennis Kucinich

Genuinely nutty, but I think the press has overplayed that aspect of him. I don’t agree with anything the man has said, I don’t think, but he’s been good for the campaign by injecting the sorts of arguments and positions that the mainstream candidates would otherwise happily sidestep. I’m glad he’s still in there, fighting the good fight. I’m also glad that the closest he’ll get to the White House is the same daily tour that I can take…

Mike Gravel

Is he still in it? Does it matter? Uh, no.

Bill Richardson (R.I.P.)

I’ve always kind of liked the guy, but he pissed me off at the CNN debate when he took Hillary’s side in declaring that arguing about an opponent’s policy positions somehow constitutes mudslinging. It didn’t piss me off so much that I stopped liking him, though. The thing that puzzles me about him is why he bailed out now. Fuck Bill, why not ride out Nevada and see how much of the Hispanic vote you could muster? At least then he’d have some hard numbers to take to Obama and Hillary when shopping around his endorsement. I don’t think either of them would tap him for the Vice Presidency, however, because it would be just too much ethnic/gender upheaval of the status quo in one administration – or so says the conventional wisdom; I rather like the idea. And I guess a cabinet post would be too been there, done that, for Richardson. So maybe he doesn’t want anything and actually doesn’t want to be accused of having played a decisive role in the outcome of the nomination.

Joe Biden (R.I.P.)

I gave this guy money back in November. I love his style and I wish the U.S. could handle a President who speaks such blunt honesty and occasionally shoves his foot in his mouth. Everyone wants perfection but come on, we’re Americans. That we say the occasional stupid or blushingly honest thing is why they love us in Europe – er, when they used to love us. Mostly I like Biden because I believe that on important issues he would make damn sure that something was done. He’s not the sort of guy to read the polls first and act later and not the type to think about how much political capital he was about to spend. I was a little surprised he didn’t wait out New Hampshire, which might have appreciated a maverick like him more than Iowa, but perhaps once he saw that Obama had won he knew there was going to be little hope of breaking into the news cycle enough to matter.

Chris Dodd (R.I.P.)

This guy annoyed me in the debates and was otherwise scarcely a blip on the radar. I’m as indifferent to his exit as I was to his entrance. Thanks for playing, though, Senator.

I’ll see if I can put together some time tomorrow and write up my take on the Republicans. I’ll take this moment just before the intermission to make the disclaimer that this is politics, and I could be (probably will be) proved astoundingly wrong in the end. I’m an amateur at politics and even the pros make some gobsmacking calls. So, by no means am I suggesting that I have it all figured out. I’m just offering some observations and taking a few swings at predicting the weeks ahead.

It’s a Good Thing I Have a Day Job

Well the autumn went about as well as I’d hoped. In late September I hiked up Mount Katahdin again, and remembered why I left a piece of my heart there many years ago. I went with my friend Chris, and only later realized that we were hiking together among the wooded mountains of Maine at almost precisely the mark of twenty-five years of friendship. Perfect.

October was classic, with a weekend of camping with an unusual and charming mix of friends, and then a damn fine Halloween party at which my comrades in moustaches and I very unexpectedly took the best costume prize. If I may, ai ai…

In November I hit the reset button on my bedroom at the apartment, with the crucial help of some very selfless friends. Sitting at my desk or reading in bed is now pure pleasure.

December has been a very peaceful month, full of time to reflect on all the best parts of my life and some of the parts that could stand a change. The holidays have come and soon will have passed on by, but I’m excited at the prospect of some adventures awaiting me in the near future.

I was inspired to a poem by a photograph recently, something that hasn’t happened in a long time. I guess it was just enough time for me to forget how awful I am at the craft. But I felt very driven to start it and then even more driven to complete it once I’d started. It expresses all the very worst romantic tendencies I possess, and I guess it kind of does it clumsily. But, it’s a proper English sonnet, and just being able to hash one of those out is something of an accomplishment. Still, it’s a good thing I have a day job.

Many a weary and worn voice will say

One cannot love a smile or laugh alone

But I am not a man to think this way

Since love such as this I’ve already known

With feet tether’d to the ground they call love

A vine with many a bend and angle

Yet a true heart can see from clouds above

That love needn’t be an infinite tangle

For beneath her tilted hat I can see

One delicate curve that captures my heart

And it is simple and obvious to me

That once joined I could not bear us apart

Now I’m such a fool, to hope, to believe

That so simply, my love she would receive