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Atop a mountain, in the dead of night and wearing seven jackets as protection against the bite of a snowstorm - it's probably not the way that most people celebrate a winter solstice.

And with good reason if my solstice hike up Vermont's Mount Mansfield is any indication.

I'm an admittedly obsessive hiker. Every year, I await the lessening daylight and snowstorms that herald the arrival of winter, my favorite hiking season. Everything appears to be covered with a fluffy down comforter, the bugs are gone and the trails are empty enough that often the only sound is the crunch of my snowshoe-clad feet.

Winter hiking, however, comes with a set of rules - slogging along snow-covered slopes doesn't "count" unless winter has officially registered on the calendar - down to the very minute. And that's why I found myself standing in the dark atop Vermont's highest peak on December 21, 2005.

That year, the solstice officially occurred at 1:35 p.m. To ensure the hike "counted" for winter, we started at 1:37 p.m., leaving only a few hours of daylight for our 12-mile trek. It was not the brightest idea, but our group of six was experienced and well-equipped. The first three miles of our trek were on a snow-covered road, so we skied in, dragging sleds behind us loaded with our hiking gear. At the three-mile mark, a conveniently located picnic table served as a ski rack and we switched over to snowshoes as snowflakes began fluttering around us.

We had hoped to be above treeline for sunset, but our progress was much slower than expected. The trail was covered with a foot of fresh snow so we needed to "break trail" - or make a path through the snow with our snowshoes. It is exhausting work, especially for the unfortunate soul at the front of the line, so we rotated the lead every 50 steps.

Darkness descended on us just after we reached the rocky ledges that mark the last of the trees. We picked our way up the icy sides of the mountain with only the light of our headlamps to guide us. The wind stayed at our backs but grew to 30 miles per hour, ending any thoughts of turning around until we reached a less exposed route near the top of the mountain.

The darkness, wind and rapidly accumulating snow ended any chance of staying on the trail so we made our own route. By chance, our trip leader brushed the snow off a rock and the shiny silver surface of the summit marker popped into view. It was 8 p.m. and we had finally made it to the top of Mount Mansfield.

Our troubles were just beginning, however, as we couldn't find the trail we had planned to take down the mountain and the snowstorm had erased tracks we made just minutes before. We fanned out looking for any indication of the trail and one of our group ended up slipping down into a steep gully. He was not hurt, but he was unable to climb out.

We could barely hear him calling through the roar of the wind so the leader of our group went down to help him. Four of us waited atop the mountain in the snowstorm for nearly an hour as they made the slow climb- stamping our feet, wriggling our fingers and hugging each other in attempts to prevent frostbite.

We were lucky - we found a trace of the trail while we were waiting. Thanks to some careful navigating by our leader, we dropped down into the trees where there was less wind and route-finding became easier. The terror I felt atop the mountain melted away as we reached the picnic table with our snow-covered skis, and was completely gone by midnight when we arrived back at the car.

As winter solstice approaches each year, I can't help but remember that hike and how fortunate we all were to arrive home alive and healthy with all our fingers and toes working properly. These days, I still look forward to winter solstice - but I celebrate its arrival by reading about other people's adventures while I sit safely at home.

Amy Demelia can be reached at 508-236-0334 or ademelia@thesunchronicle.com