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“Some boys are okay, right?” Alex asks, her back straight and her stride strong.

“Yes, definitely! Most of them are okay.”

“What about men? Are most of them okay too?”

“Yes, most of them are okay. At least in this country. Make no mistake, though—you will indeed meet and have to deal with some bad ones. It's just part of life as a woman. Do your best to avoid the unfair ones when you can, but never let any of them stand in your way.”

We reach the water crossing and are now one mile away from our car. This morning, Stony Brook was easily navigated. Now, however, the day's melted snow has found its way into the water and the level has risen to just below my knees. I'm confident we can get across, but our feet and lower legs will get soaked.

I tell Alex that we're going to wade across the part we crossed earlier, and she nods her head in agreement. Keeping a firm grip on Alex's upper arm, I lead us through the frigid water. The current pushes at our legs, and Alex stumbles, but my hold keeps her upright, and we reach the other side without mishap.

Calves and feet drenched, we stand, Mount Moriah checked off the list. Alex looks sturdy and victorious, her hands on her hips as she stares down the path before us. The afternoon is waning; sunset is only an hour away.

“I can do what I want with my life, right? I can get to where I want to go?”

“Yes, Alex. I've no doubt you'll be able to do anything you want to do. However, sometimes the path might be like the one up Mount Moriah in April. Sometimes you're going to have to punch through rotting snow to get to where you want to go. You might end up feeling tired and angry, but if you just keep at it, if you just keep moving forward and dealing with everything the best way you can, then you will indeed reach your goal.”

“And if I have babies?”

“Then you'll make your own choices and do your best to figure it out.”

I fear my words are inadequate, but this is the best I can do. I don't know how to better prepare her for the inevitable difficulties she will face as she makes her way through life.

The two of us step quickly down the trail, the distance between ourselves and our car narrowing every second, Alex looking full of heavy thought.

Peak #36: Mount Isolation, June 27–28, 2009

T
he spruce grouse is not a ferocious species. There aren't any books advising what to do should you meet one on a trail, and there aren't any warnings about them on the New Hampshire Fish and Game website. No one worries about crossing paths with a grouse. While it's true that many are not afraid of humans, these calf-high birds present no threat. They may wait until you're within a few feet of them before they fly away, but they will indeed fly away.

Except, of course, for the grouse on the Rocky Branch Trail. This particular individual is a creature of legend, a bird of angry bravado that has been featured in many a peakbagger's trip report. I have read all about this fowl's aggressive nature and bold demeanor, and its ability to fly at grown men and send them screaming down the trail. I don't think this bird
has ever succeeded in seriously injuring anyone, but everyone desperately wishes to avoid it nonetheless.

And now here it is, a few yards in front of me, pacing back and forth and hissing. Yes, hissing.

Alex and I are about four miles up 4,005-foot Mount Isolation, one of the more difficult and notorious 4Ks. Reaching this particular summit means hiking almost fifteen round-trip miles over slick, mud-covered rocks, wading through three potentially dangerous water crossings … and making our way through the territory of one reportedly bold and extremely grumpy grouse.

Thankfully, my daughter and I are not alone with this bird. LRiz, an amiable and enthusiastic young athlete, contacted me the night before and asked if she could join us, at least for part of the first day. She wanted to start the hike with us, then go ahead after a few miles and speedily complete the trip on her own. I gladly agreed to her company. This lovely twenty-one-year-old is incredibly fit; she's one of the few who can hike an entire range in one day, go to sleep, wake up, and hike another range the next day. Just as cheerful as she is strong, her presence always brightens the moment. Alex adores her; MadRiver is coming with us as well, and he is cherished and much appreciated, but LRiz is a young woman, and Alex enjoys the sisterhood vibe she receives from this positive female role model.

Alex and LRiz are behind me when the grouse steps out. MadRiver is not yet with us, as he preferred to start later in the morning and catch up to us on the trail.

“It's the grouse, it's the grouse!” I gasp, my words running together in surprise and fright. My hands reach for my camera, for I absolutely must document this encounter.

LRiz draws in a horrified breath. She's met this critter before, on a previous trip up Mount Isolation. When she sees what my hands are doing, she emphatically whispers, “Don't take its picture! That makes it really angry!” I look into her frightened face and realize she's not kidding. I leave my camera where it is.

“What is it?” Alex asks as she squeezes between LRiz and me, trying to get a better look.

“Just a bird, honey,” I say, but my voice wavers.

The grouse has edged closer to us during our few seconds of commiseration while continuing to walk back and forth across the path. It keeps one red eye fixed on me while it bobs along, and its loud chatter informs me that it Is Not Afraid. It is telling me that it can beat the crap out of me if it really wants to. I believe it.

“What are we going to do?” Alex wants to know. Okay, time for me to mother up.

“Well, we have to keep going, right?” I try to sound brave, I really do, but that waver just won't leave my
voice, and the expression on my daughter's face turns from curiosity to fear.

“Okay, just stay between LRiz and me,” I direct her. “Let's all move together. Alex, you stay in the middle, and we'll casually walk past it. The worst it can do is peck at our boots, right?” I plaster a fake smile on my face, gather my courage, and take one step forward.

The grouse reacts instantly. Screaming in outrage, it quick-steps directly toward my leading foot.

I let out a small shriek and hurriedly retreat, running into Alex and pushing her against LRiz.

The grouse halts its charge and goes back to its former pacing, remaining much too close to my foot. Its red eye gleams with triumph.

LRiz takes a deep breath and does the bravest thing I can imagine under the circumstances. She volunteers to go first. I ask her if she's sure, and, after taking the proverbial gulp, she answers in the affirmative. Then, with a look of admirable determination, she steps boldly along the path toward the grouse.

Again, the grouse reacts instantly. This time, however, instead of striding toward an advancing boot, it leaps off the ground and makes a flying dash toward LRiz's chest. LRiz lets out a high-pitched cry of surprise, then manages to dodge the grouse and flee down the trail. The grouse rounds and attempts another attack, this time at LRiz's back. I follow close behind, shouting in a desperate attempt to distract the flying menace,
keeping Alex close behind me all the while. Finally, the grouse drops back down to the ground and stalks away into the neighboring brush, looking highly satisfied.

Alex and I catch up to LRiz, and I ask if she's all right. I'm convinced there will be blood and peck marks all over her, but miraculously, she is fine. There are no holes in her pack or clothing, and she claims she didn't feel any contact. Apparently, it was all one big noisy bluff. I thank her profusely for taking the hit, and I apologize for not having the courage to go first myself. She's a very good sport about it.

Not five minutes later, we hear footsteps coming from behind. It's MadRiver.

“Did you see the grouse?” I ask, thinking he must have, since it so recently bullied us.

“No,” he answers, with a twinkle in his eye. “But I know you ladies did, 'cause I heard the screams.”

It's now an easy mile or so to where we will later spend the night. The only difficulty between here and the shelter is a twenty-foot-wide brook. The water is not so high as to present a danger, but it's a slight challenge to cross nonetheless. I am able to guide Alex to the other side by leading her across the tallest rocks. Her boots get wet, but her feet do not. No big deal.

This time around, anyway.

We take a quick break at the three-sided wooden structure that will later serve as our sleeping quarters. MadRiver stashes half the contents of his pack in one of the corners and unrolls a mat diagonally across the floor. Our informal reservations now made, we pull the straps of our packs back over our shoulders and stand, ready to continue onward. My back does not want to straighten all the way and the muscles on either side of my spine spasm sharply. I briefly consider taking out half my gear and leaving it alongside MadRiver's belongings in the corner. I let the thought pass, however, as I don't want to risk not having something I might need. What if I fall and break my leg a mile from the shelter? What if the temperatures drop unexpectedly? What if we are forced to spend the night near the summit for some unforeseeable reason? The weight of the what-ifs is much heavier than the weight of my pack. Better to keep the tent and sleeping bags with me, for I'd much rather deal with the backache than the constant worry.

Two more miles behind us. That's almost six since we left the car. The summit is now a mile and a half away. Of course, after we tag it, we'll have to turn around and hike all the way back down to the shelter. My legs
ache, and I feel an intense urge to whine. Alex's legs must be about to fall off; I don't know how she manages to keep going. I stare at her back as she tromps up the trail ahead of me. Her body looks strong; she looks capable. She has to be tired, though. Perhaps I should call for a break. We do, after all, have headlamps with us. Is it really necessary to make it back to the shelter before nightfall?