The drive to the White Mountains was intended to give us an amazing view of the colorful landscape from a high vista point. We packed a picnic and our hiking gear. From atop the summits in the White Mts one can usually see many miles of forested mts and valleys and even the winding pipeline. We would be above the treeline, making the view spectacular.
At least that was the plan.
But, as we drove higher and then hiked even higher, the fog closed in around us.
The colors we saw were the low lying tundra brush at our feet.
Low bush cranberries, wild blueberries and other plants I couldn't identify.
The fog thickened as we climbed and even rolled in visible sheets.
It was chilly, damp and misty.
And eerie.
We laughed and tried to guess which mountains were in the distance
but totally hidden from our view.
This certainly wasn't the vista we had planned on.
We posed for pictures and decided against the picnic on the summit.
Once there, the wind had also picked up and it was a bit uncomfortable.
Poor Abigail had a red button nose as she rode around on Kathleen's back going up and Popeye's back going back down the mt. But her little fingers were warm inside the handmade and fur trimmed mittens a friend had made her.
We turned around and headed back down the mountain, disappearing into the fog.
I imagined we were Catherine and Heathcliff on the moors in "Wuthering Heights" but maybe we were more like beasts in "Gorillas in the Mist".
You decide...
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