Winter perils in the making.

Tripping up the steps of 5 Joy Street, headquarters of the Appalachian Mountain Club was not the ideal way to begin a five-week training program on Winter Hiking.

Maybe it was the strain of ambling up Beacon Hill from Boston Common, but that’s what I did.

Fortunately, two pairs of hands instinctively reached out from the top of the steps and I found myself pulled to safety from the top and pushed to safety from the bottom by my wife, who stood a step or two below me. The hands from above belonged to two of the course instructors, who later also introduced themselves as trip leaders for our winter hikes. I wondered as I brushed off my embarrassment if this wasn’t just the first of many times when helping hands would be required.

The Hiking and Backpacking Committee, H&B for short, of the Boston Chapter of the AMC runs this course annually, or has for the past six years. During this time they have developed a half-inch thick tome of knowledge, artfully titled ‘An Introduction to Winter Hiking’ - just in case the uninitiated thought that this was all there was to it.

Checking-in I collected my nametag and found myself a minor celebrity. Not only was my badge number 1, which meant I was the first to register and pay for the course, but I also shared the same family name with two of the instructors. We are not related, at least as far as I know, but within a few minutes of the start of the formal part of the evening, it felt as if I had joined a rather large family of similarly minded people.

Formal is too strong a word for events as they unfolded. It’s hard to be formal when someone stands barefooted in front of an audience in his underwear and explains the theory of heat management – which can be over-simplified as layers good, perspiration and cotton clothing bad. Not just bad, but very bad, bad to the point of forbidden.

The same goes for anything other than two-layer footwear; the sort that has removable liners is the only type of footwear allowed on AMC led winter hikes. Hard plastic mountaineering boots (similar to their downhill ski cousins) seemed to be the boot of choice for the majority of leaders in attendance, although at least one person favored the old stand-by Sorrel boot.

I don’t want to give the impression that these hardened devotees of winter solitude came dressed in expensive duds, although one person did sport a Arc’teryx® backpack that I know comes with a $549 price tag. Pants, stuff sacks and backpacks sported their fair share of duct tape patches, a simple remedy I suspect for a brush with unguarded crampons and ice axes or unavoidable tree limbs.

Perhaps the main advantage of attending the course, which works out at a meager $9 per week - apart from the obvious one of limiting the chances of ending up as a statistic in the New Hampshire Fish and Game annals of bad things that happen to others – is the opportunity to sign-up for those illusive winter trips I said I would do last year.

These are the ones I read about in AMC Outdoors or the Charles River Mud newsletter a week before they happen, or more usually a week or two afterwards.

Imagine that. Planning your winter hikes, secure in the knowledge that your destination hut or lodge is not booked up, that you will be in the company of like-minded or at least as insane people and led by an experienced hiker who has not only lived to tell the tale, but is willing to share the experience with a novice.

Roll on winter – at least until next week's session