IF YOU GO . . . Professional climbing schools in the White Mountains: International Mountain Climbing School, Box 1666, North Conway, NH 03860; telephone 603-356-7013. Eastern Mountain Sports Climbing School, Box 514, North Conway, NH 03860; telephone 603-356-5433

FRANKENSTEIN CLIFFS, N.H. -- The crampons attached to my climbing boot slipped from theirsteep ice, leaving me hanging from the ice tool embedded in the frozen water above my head. As I looked down to find fresh ice in which to sink my crampons, I was struck by the irony that the bottom of the cliff seemed a world away but I could cover the 120-foot drop in a few seconds.

The column of ice I clung to glittered in the bright sunshine. My face was so close to that ice that I could not tell if the water dripping from my nose was my own sweat or runoff from the melting ice. If I had the presence of mind or the nerve to look over my right shoulder, I would have seen Mount Washington bathing in the sun's glory with no clouds for cover.

The explosion of recreational ice climbing over the last 10 years had led my friend Joe Pratt and me -- two fortyish weekend warriors with no previous ice climbing experience -- to North Conway a few days before. We prudently sought out Arthur Haines, a certified guide with the International Mountain Climbing School of North Conway, and as I hung from the ice tool, questioning my initial decision to leave solid ground behind, I took solace knowing that Arthur was above me holding the other end of the rope attached to the harness around my waist.

Arthur, Joe, and I had set out from North Conway earlier that day. About a half-hour later, we turned left off Route 302 and added our car to the half-dozen already parked at the entrance to Frankenstein.

Frankenstein Cliffs has become one of the most popular ice-climbing destinations in the White Mountains. Its climbs range from easy to difficult, and accessibility ensures that on any given weekend the area will be bustling with activity.

On this weeekday, although clear and balmy for a winter day, traffic at the cliffs was light. The three of us hiked the half mile to the beginning of the cliffs and headed directly for Chia Direct, a moderately difficult climb for the Northeast.

Ice climbing until the late 1960s was -- for even the most carefully prepared and experienced climber -- inherently dangerous. With technological breakthroughs in equipment, however, climbs previously considered impossible by the best are now scaleable by relative beginners. The danger, of courage, is still there. But with proper instruction, the right equipment, and, most of all, good judgment, ice climbing can be fun and as safe as most winter alpine activities.

The crampons on my boots and the boots themselves are perhaps the most innovative recent equipment advances in steep ice climbing. Twelve razor-sharp points, including two crucial points at the toe of the device, allowed me to literally stand on vertical ice. Each boot was solid plastic with a separate inner boot, like a ski boot but more flexible, providing warmth and support.

Warmth, as I hung from one of the two ice tools I carried, was at that moment not a concern. Exertion and at times fear often cause an ice climber to perspire. But most climb with at least one partner, and the two almost never climb at the same time. The time not climbing can be cold.

Clothing is high on the list of proper gear for the alpine enthusiast. Layers of fleece or wool, avoiding cotton at all costs, wind and water protection such as Gor-tex, proper head and hand gear, and a spare down parka will help make most days in the mountains enjoyable.

But some days it does not matter what you wear or what you bring. These days, regardless of what you have on, the odds favor Mother Nature in a battle between you and her; on these days, you should avoid venturing into the wilderness at all.

Weather in the White Mountains cannot be underestimated. Every year these mountains claim lives, often as not young, fit adventurers with some experience in the mountains. Looking into the orphaned car of a climber who froze to death on Mount Washington, one may find gear not taken that might have helped keep the climber alive, but the crucial mistake is usually the decision to go in the first place.

Of course, it is child's play to look back and say that the conditions were too severe. But knowing when to keep going and when to stand down is perhaps the most difficult decision to make when heading into the White Mountains in winter. Winter climbing (which includes hiking) -- day trips, overnights, steep ice climbing -- often involves moments when you think you should have stayed at the lodge in front of the fire. When, then, to say you have had enough, the danger is too high, the risks too great?

Most of us do not make our living in the outdoors assessing these risks. Our professional skills usually are not transferable: Being good at what we do daily probably bears little on wilderness expertise.

Judgment, then, is at a premium. If one does not have the experience to be able to rely on his or her own judgment, there are others who can be consulted.

The Appalachian Mountain Club is an excellent source of information for those heading into the White Mountains. There are a number of outposts where climbers can get the latest weather forecasts and talk to experienced alpiners. Certified guides also can be hired for the day or longer at a number of professional climbing schools.

When climbing steep ice, an experienced guide also can provide equipment (boots, crampons, ice tools, harness, ropes, ice screws, and other protection, packs, helmets, and more), instruction, advice on clothing, and, most of all, judgment. When choosing a guide, chose carefully. You likely will be relying on the guide to decide when to turn back or when not to go at all.

The voice of the guide from the International Mountain Climbing School working with me for three days floated down with some helpful advice as I hung from my ice tool: ``Get your feet back on the ice.''

I already knew what I was supposed to do, because even though I had been climbing for only a few days, he had drilled into me proper technique. I also knew that if my ice tool failed to hold me -- which was unlikely -- the rope attached to my harness would catch me before I fell more than a few feet.

Still, clinging to the vertical ice was unnerving. Hanging from the ice tool at the end of my outstretched arm with my forearm on fire from holding the tool too tightly instead of relying on the strap around my wrist, I managed to sink the crampon on my right foot into the other side of the column. I could now stand solidly on my feet spread four feet apart, pigeon-toed in to meet the ice column head on.

I sucked in air and thought briefly of going back down. My brain railed against the notion of increasing the distance between me and solid ground. But relying on what I had been taught and Arthur's reminders, I continued up to join him and Joe, who had preceded me up the ice.

I had been climbing for 30 minutes, and the ice tools felt like sledge hammers, weighing down my arms with each swing. At the same time, my calf muscles were beginning to shake uncontrollably. All of this told me that I was relying too much on muscle and not enough on technique.

I composed myself as best I could, looked for solid ice to place my tool, and swung the sharp ax firmly into the ice. With my toe crampons still solidly embedded in the ice, I pulled firmly on the ice tool, testing its placement in the frozen water. When assured it would hold me if I again lost my footing, I lifted one foot from its comforting connection and placed it where the next step of a ladder would have been, using my toe crampons in place of the ladder step that was not there. Stepping up on that foot, I moved the other foot up to the same level, so I was again comfortably standing on both feet spread a yard apart. I then repeated the entire process. One after the other, a foot and a half at a time, I closed the distance between me and my companions.

When I reached their perch, I stepped onto the ice ledge, and Arthur secured me to the ice anchor, safely holding the two of them unnaturally above the ground.

Once secured, I turned and took in the spectacular view of Mount Washington, majestic and foreboding to the north. The view was as exhilarating as the climb. It was as if the exposed mountain gleaming in the afternoon sun was my reward for having met my small challenge.

I was appreciative of the unadorned mountain, but overcoming my fear, learning, and relying on what I had been taught, accomplishing my goal -- these were reward enough. The beautiful view was pure bonus.

Published 01/25/98 in the Boston Suday Globe's Travel Section