Adapted from Robert Whitcomb’s “Digital Diary,’’ in GoLocal24.com

New Englanders tend to think more about heading toward the crowded seashore than to the mountains in the summer. I prefer the latter.

While I probably shouldn’t do it now (heart disease), I loved climbing in the White Mountains. They aren’t very high as mountains go – the highest, Mt. Washington, rises to only 6,288 feet above sea level -- but they have grandeur, in part because they have above-the-tree-line acreage, which affords climbers great views, though I read that with global warming the tree line is rising. And in the quasi-tundra above 4,500 feet, there are interesting plants, including delicate flowers otherwise only found in the Arctic.

Another joy of climbing is the camaraderie of fellow climbers, always happy to chat and provide advice: “That way is easier”. “Incredible views around that huge boulder.” “Watch out! It’s slippery!’’ “See the eagle!” And if you use the Appalachian Mountain Club’s “huts’’ to stop and have lunch or spend the night, you might strike up friendships with fellow hikers, many of whom come from far away. Some even bring along a bottle of wine to add to the festivities; they’re often Quebecois. People usually seem friendlier on mountains, at least in my experience.

You see some pretty strange things up there and not just such phenomena as weirdly and colorfully lit cloud formations.

Black flies are a particular menace in the late spring in northern New England. Years ago, a friend of mine and I spotted an older gent  who looked familiar coming  along the ridge of the Franconia Range. But the guy we  knew had white hair. This man’s was red. Then we discovered that his hair was red from the blood from fly bites.

Also strange is some folks’ ridiculous outfitting, such as those who wear sneakers instead of proper hiking footwear. They usually deeply regret the sneakers, even if they don’t suffer a bad fall or sprained ankle as a result of wearing them.