Scene in Newbury Street

The last leg of our assault on Mount Christmas had started so well. Bright sunshine, temperatures of 18F and a clear run down Route 2, gave a false sense of calm as we elected to drive to our downtown base. This was going to be a breeze. Traffic on Storrow Drive ebbed and flowed easily, but then stopped as completely as the frozen Charles River. We bobbed and weaved our way around ice patches, cutting fresh tracks around slower trekkers and jeeps, slipping easily past the slower but more luxurious limousines that conveyed premium seekers of joy and gifts. We made for base camp under Boston Common and pitched the vehicle into the first vacant slot. Climbing from the darkness beneath the frozen ground, which was as hard as the concrete tomb we were leaving, the smell of the emergency latrines, conveniently located in the stairwell, bought an acrid awareness of our situation. We would be on foot from now on, but not alone.

We fought the conditions along Newbury Street, many times having to wait our turn as Sunday pedestrians, most well dressed but untrained for the conditions, impeded our determined progress to the top. Fierce biting wind gnawed through our outer survival gear, and sliced through inadequate layers of cotton and silk until it chilled the flesh and drained the warmth of fellowship from the soul.

We saw evidence of far away travelers from the highlands of Rhode Island. Not for them a hike along icy paths on foot. With their Mountaineering vehicle's four wheel drive engaged, they shunted back and forth to squeeze into any available space as shown in the photo.

Patagonia proved a worthy destination, providing a colorful display of clothing made from wool and strange man made fiber. However, our real treat was the return leg and finding the aromatic Lush location on Newbury. The mix of smells will be us for days.