George Washington University Common App Essay

Someone has died of exposure on top of Mount Washington every month of the year. That’s what the sign outside Lakes of the Clouds hut reads. With 100 mph wind speeds as a norm and temperatures below freezing, even in summer, Mount Washington’s weather leaves hikers at the mercy of its unpredictability. At 13, I was one of those hikers, about to be lost in a place known for the worst weather on Earth.
That summer, my dad, my friend Cameron, her family, and I hiked up Mount Washington and stayed overnight in the Lakes of the Clouds hut. It was bright and warm when we arrived at the Ammonoosuc trailhead with well packed backpacks and we headed off into the woods. Cameron, her brother James, and I eventually got ahead. We were unaware of the hint of a gloomy sky or the shadow of a truly ominous mountain just ahead. We kept hiking, climbing above the tree line into the ash-grey sky, and finally, we reached the hut.
In front of us was a smaller peak, Mount Monroe, and the top was, at the time, plainly visible from Lakes of the Clouds. We decided to go up, and wave to our families as they reached the hut. We quickly made it to the peak and, proud of our efforts, all sat down, exhausted, watching the clouds roll in, and wondering where everyone was. While Cameron and I were talking, James disappeared. By the the time we noticed, visibility had drastically diminished and we were alone. The realization of our situation started to settle, and so did the storm. Lightning was hitting the ground, not far from where we were standing. We were somehow so far from where we started, and had no idea how to get back. It was all a haze of panic and thunder. We staggered around in pouring rain, looking for the trail, not recognizing anything around us. For what seemed like days, but was really two hours, we traipsed around blindly until a figure appeared, yelling our names, and we ran to it. When we reached Cameron’s mom we knew we were safe. Soaked and embarrassed, we discovered our backpacks had ponchos in them all along. We warmed up in the hut, quiet and uncertain, but grateful for thick blankets, and shelter from the thunder, lightening, and wind. Laying in my bunk that night, I was still profoundly shaken, and not entirely sure that I could finish the hike. I was mortified that I was so irresponsible and I was no longer confident in my own hiking abilities. The more I thought about it though, the more I wanted to go back out. I knew I wouldn’t forgive myself if I accepted this failure. My mind was made up; I was going to get to the top of Mount Washington.
The next day, standing at the hut, we reviewed our hiking safety rules, and started to ascend to the Mount Washington peak. I was terrified and flustered, but I wanted desperately to prove that I could do this. So I started to hike. As I gained elevation, I gained confidence. The events of the day before no longer mattered, and the embarrassment that came from them evaporated into the fog just as we reached the summit. Standing in the heart of the White Mountains, taking in my own accomplishment, I looked at all the tourists who had just driven their cars up in 30 minutes. I felt proud. I was proud that I forced myself to continue after the incident. Proud that I redeemed myself. Three years later I hiked Mount Washington again with my dad. We got out of the car, double checked our backpacks, and I knew I was well prepared. It was another warm and bright day at the Ammonoosuc trailhead, but this time it stayed that way.

