The first light of day creeps into the eastern sky, revealing a few clouds amid an ocean of blue. As I turn onto the Kancamagus Highway in Lincoln, N.H., dawn sets the clouds afire, ribs of red that wake me up a bit – and give me hope that the weather will cooperate with my plans.

In North Conway I meet up with Bill Mistretta, a friend and frequent rock-climbing partner from Nashua, N.H. In the distance our objective, Mount Washington, wears a crown of clouds.

But we both shrug. It’s just 7 a.m., the clouds will burn off. We drive north, on our way to climb.

Dozens of people will go at least partway up the Northeast’s highest mountian on this Saturday. But few, if any, will share our route.

We’ve set our sights on rock-climbing the prominent northeast ridge of Pinnacle Buttress, which rises several hundred feet above the floor of Huntington Ravine – an airy, stone ladder to the broad plateau known as the Alpine Garden, below Washington’s summit.

First climbed more than 80 years ago, the Pinnacle was the first technical rock climb in the White Mountians and one of New England’s first. Though considered only moderately difficult by today’s climbing standards, Pinnacle Buttress remains a classic – and committing – alpine rock climb.

The base of the route is a three-mile hike from Pinkham Notch on Route 16. From atop the cliffs, the hike down is another three miles. Bagging the summit adds a couple more miles.

Climbers come from all over the Northeast to do the Pinnacle – each hoping to catch Washington’s irascible weather gods in a rare generous mood.

As we’re stuffing gear, ropes, food, a first-aid kit, two quarts of water each and lots of extra clothing into our packs at Pinkham Notch we look up at the clouds still swirling around the mountian’s upper flanks. Even here, it’s already colder than it was in North Conway, where a beautiful day had begun.

Bill bursts out laughing. “Why are we doing this,” he asks? “We could be warm and dry doing a nice rock climb on Cathedral Ledge.”

I know he’s joking. We’ve talked about the Pinnacle for weeks. Other potential companions never materialized, for various reasons, but Bill and I never wavered in our desire to make the climb.

I checked the forecast inside the Appalachian Mountian Club visitor center, The valleys will see highs in the 60s, but the outlook for the summits is less promising: highs in the 30s, clouds, mixed precipitation and winds 40 to 60 mph.

We put on our onerous packs and start up.

Hiking in the woods, we warm up quickly, sweating in T-shirts. The trees impede our view of the mountain. We forget any worries about weather – the clouds will lift – and get lost in conversation.

As we hike higher, occasional blasts of frigid air barrel down from that colder place above us, hitting like the wake of an 18-wheeler rolling by at 60 mph. Each time, we look at each other and mumble something about how it might be cold while climbing. But our place upward never falters.

Where the trees allow a partial view of the higher slopes, I look up and remark hopefully, “It looks like the clouds are lifting.”

“We are going to do this,” Bill says confidently.

The lower stretches of the Huntington Ravine Trail are sheltered by dense forest; it’s hard to see the weather above. But when the sun disappears behind clouds, the air feels cold – and seems to be growing colder.

“I figure, even if it’s cold, we have all the clothing we need,” Bill says.

I nod. We’ll be fine. The climb will be memorable – if chilly. At another break in the trees, I catch a glimpse of the tide of clouds advancing and receding overhead. They look almost close enough to touch.

“It’s not looking very good, Bill, ” I mutter. But he insists, “We’re going to make this climb.”

We finally emerge from the forest to our first unobstructed view of the ravine. Gray-white clouds blot out Huntington’s headwall. For a moment, the very bottom of the Pinnacle is visible; then it disappears againvery bottom of the Pinnacle is visible; then it disappears again.

A discussion ensues. We contemplate the reasons to retreat and grasp for the justification to move on. We have been up since 4 a.m. and come this far to climb, not turn back.

As we stand there talking, the wind hits us with repeated jabs of harsh cold. We pull out jackets, then hats, still debating what to do.

The forecast nags at me: 30s, mixed precipitation. I start thinking about the people who have died up here, many of them for making the wrong decisions in inclement weather. I’m reminded of an old adage about discretion and valor.

I shake my head and say, “Bill, I don’t want to climb in the that cloud.”

Bill sighs, but agrees. As if he’d read my mind, he says, “I don’t want to be one of those people they write about in the papers.”

We start back down. Within minutes, we stop to talk with two hikers coming up the trail. One mentions that they attempted the Pinnacle just last week. They turned back in the face of a September snowstorm.

Days later, we would hear from people who hiked up the mountain under a sheet of ice.

Two hours after our retreat, Bill and I are enjoying that nice, warm rock climb on Cathedral Ledge.

Michael Lanza is a syndicated columnist. Letters and column ideas can be sent to 9 South Street, Suite 2, Lebanon, NH 03766.