To say that a Mount Abram summit begins with a serious, near vertical grind is an understatement. For some reason, it reminds of my grandparents ladder-like attic stairway, a narrow, near vertical shaft constructed with 4 inch treads on a 12 inch rise. Somehow, and at great peril, I might add, my Grandma Carder could traverse up and down that contravention of ethics and "building code" in 3 inch heels. Then, as if to elevate "perilous" to treacherous, Granddad never bothered to install a handrail. The attic was crammed with odds and ends of "memorabilia," boxes and boxes of artifacts destined for a "someday" yard sale that never came to pass. If there is a "bright side" to getting old and crippled, it's that it will excuse long put off chores indefinitely, which, at some point, becomes forever.
There is an anatomical contradiction when escalating a grade as steep as Abram's. Achilles tendons stretch as they warm to the task, while quads, on the other hand, begin to tighten...followed by glutes, then low back muscles. Ultimately, on such climbs, posture flies out the window as you attempt to pull yourself upward on all fours, clutching tufts of tundra grass and willow limbs for additional traction.
Wonder Dog Sunday leads the charge down mountain. By the time we closed the doors on the truck, she was fast asleep in the back seat :)
And remember; a trail without obstacles is destined to disappoint...
Mark, Bobbie, Jen and Wonder Dog, Sunday.