Since I enjoy the mountains so much, and have since I was little, My dad and I decided to bring some friends up for a four day trip a few years ago, staying overnight in the mountains in AMC huts. I was only in fourth grade, so I don't remember much, but I remember the highlights and the lowlights. I brought three friends and their families to New Hampshire for some time away from home. I had been hiking many times already, but some of my friends were a bit out of shape and the hike into the mountains took a few hours. We were completely spent upon arrival in the first hut. I had not stayed in the huts before, and I was amazed to find that it was incredibly simple. There were two bunk rooms where everybody slept, one dining room with a few tables to seat everyone, and board games and cards for entertainment. At first I thought oh my god, this is so boring I'm gonna cry, but then my friends and I started a game of B.S. and I didn't want to stop. One of my friends brought a frisbee and we played ultimate frisbee in the yard for hours. Dinner went by, and we played rummy until it got too dark to see.
Hiking the next day was great. A good night's rest and a flat trail were all we needed to hike seven miles that day (not that much now, but it was a lot that little). The views in the alpine zone looking all the way to Canada and Vermont were magnificent. We talked little, only of the views, great weather, and which trail to take at every junction. All of a sudden, we felt a light breeze, escalating into a gale, blowing us toward the eerily cloudy peak of Mount Washington, the highest mountain in the region. We felt little bits of condensation on the small parts of us exposed, as we were wearing cold weather gear. Once it started thoroughly pouring, drenching us in icy cold water, we reached a split in the trail. We could either skip the mountain and descend to the next hut, or strive through the wind and rain to reach our highest peak yet. The decision for the latter was unanimous, so we braced ourselves. We would later learn that the wind was blowing at an astounding 80 miles per hour as we ascended the steep slope. As we were continually pelted with rain pellets that felt like paintballs, we huddled over and climbed, thinking of the rewards afterwards. Out of nowhere, the slope ended and we approached a sign in the ten feet of distance we were able to see. Summit Mount Washington, it read. After a shortened celebration, we descended back down to the hut, Lakes of the Clouds. As we set our soaking backpacks on the floor to dry, the rain let up, allowing us to go outside. We wanted to check out the lakes, and so we ran to the edge and looked in. They were really a couple of large puddles, so one of my friends decided it would be fun to push me in. It was as cold as an iceberg, and he felt bad, so he reached his hand to grab me. Not even thinking twice, I pulled him in with me. Then everyone else jumped in, and since we were already wet and cold, nobody noticed the difference. At home I would have longed for a hot shower, but we didn't have those in the huts (the smell showed).