For weeks I had been looking forward to a snowshoeing adventure with Steve [The Knee].  Gary recommended we climb Rooster Comb and I liked the idea because I was familiar with the first part of the trail.  We had planned to leave early, but a late start [and late night] at a [Mediaeval costume] party the evening before had left us rolling into bed at around 1 AM.  I woke up around 7 to a dark, dreary overcast sky and started to think... well Theresa's got a soccer game at 1... perhaps it's time to change plans... but Steve was already up and talking about snowshoeing... so I began to collect our supplies.

As we headed up the Northway a drizzle turned to rain which turned into a blizzard.  Again, the weather shifted my thoughts of snowshoeing to returning home to watch Theresa's soccer game... at which point Steve said, "We could always just go into Lake Placid for lunch."  After all Steve explained, he had forgotten his bionic knee brace, he didn't have his Gore-Tex shell, and his calf was bothering him.  Visions of waiting for Steve outside gift shops in Lake Placid danced in my head.  As would be typical when the off duty psychotherapy sign is lit, I responded with great empathy, "Steve, if we drive all the f--king way up there, we are definitely f--k'n snowshoeing!"

We got to the Mountaineer and Steve moaned that he was starting to experience menstrual cramps as he aimlessly wandered about the store.  I waited.

We hit the trail around 10:00 and it was beautiful.  It was so warm that we took off most of our outerwear and hiked in our underwear (editor's LaBellishment).  We had brought the traditional snowshoe dining fare of Ramen noodles. Although I had managed to bring an extra cup for Steve, I had somehow forgotten the utensils.  No problem... we would slurp our noodles.

As we approached the final climb to the summit at Rooster Comb my thoughts returned to the soup and several images flashed through my mind.  This morning I briefly thought, "Don't forget matches." Hastily, I then moved onto something else.  Later, when walking through the Mountaineer, I recalled noting a couple of books of matches for sale without processing the fact that I had left our matches for cooking at home!

Over the course of the hike we hadn't seen another soul. But, the hiking gods smiled upon us and sent an angel with her golden retriever to our rescue.  She had a 46er patch on her day pack and insisted that we take (her last) two packs of matches... just in case one didn't work.

When we got to the top we absorbed the spectacular views from rocks that had been wind blown free of snow. We carelessly lit matches. We cooked. We dined. We bowed to our guardian angel of fire. And... after our descent we stopped at the seldom visited Ausable Inn  for a beer, chatter about the hike, and other great memories.