When I was about 14 years old, my high school hiking club made an attempt to climb Mt Washington, the highest mountain on the east coast. We stayed in a hiking lodge the night before the climb, and then went up on the following morning.

Mt Washington, for a long time, had the world record for the highest wind speed ever recorded on Earth at 231 miles per hour. On the day we tried to climb it it was wasn't nearly that bad, but it was still windy enough that we could barely walk. The wind literally howled as it blew between the mountain peaks, and you had to walk leaning into the wind as hard as you could so it wouldn't just blow you off the ridge.

When it started to snow, the teachers who ran the hiking club decided to give up on the climb. We started to head for the trail that would lead us down the mountain, but the sky above us and the snow all around us were the same uniform shade of white- a condition known as a “whiteout.” Then the fog rolled in, and we couldn't see five feet in any direction.

We took out a long piece of rope and all of us held onto it so we wouldn't lose each other. By the time we reached the little survival shelter on the trail, my hands were frozen as stiff as roofing tiles. I had to use my right hand to push my left hand into a vaguely claw-like shape in order to hold my lunch.

That was a hell of a day! I didn't make it to the summit of Mt. Washington that time, although I was able to later. But that first experience gave me a deep respect for the mountain, and how wild it can really be.