When you start climbing Mount Washington at 1:00 in the afternoon, you’re going to get a lot of comments from the hikers already on their way down. It never bothers me. If anything, it’s a motivator. I live to be the contrarian. The alpine zone was buried under feet of fresh snow, and I zigzagged across the landscape, following whatever random ski track offered the slightest hint of support underfoot. Standing alone above treeline in the Presidential Range at sunset is its own kind of religion.