With a blustery breeze making the 8-degree temperature feel as if were a few notches below zero, our group didn’t intend to dawdle while scrambling back to civilization. The mountain hut where we spent the night had been so frigid my boots were frozen to the wooden floor when I crawled out of my sleeping bag that morning.

But barely a half-mile down the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail from Carter Notch Hut in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, we encountered a stumbling block: a thick sheet of ice coating the steepest, rockiest section of the narrow, tree-lined footpath.

“Time to break out the rope,” I said with a twinge of trepidation.

My son, Tom, extracted a 30-foot length of nylon cord from his backpack while the others stared anxiously at the bulging, glittering expanse below.

“Looks like a glacier,” Sean Gorski exclaimed. He and Tom had been cross-country running teammates at Union College, along with fellow hiker Zack Patnode. Also joining our merry band was Jenna Cho, former newspaper colleague and outdoor enthusiast who now lives and works in New York City.

We five had hiked up the day before from Route 16 near the Mount Washington Auto Road, when slightly warmer conditions had softened the treacherous ice and made it easier to gain traction using spiked chains attached to our boots with rubber grips.

These devices also came in handy when, after dropping off cumbersome backpacks at the hut the first day, we clambered another 1.7 miles to the icy, snowy summit of Carter Dome, a 4,832-ft. peak in the Carter-Moriah Range that runs along the northeastern side of Pinkham Notch.

The Appalachian Mountain Club, which maintains trails and operates huts throughout the Northeast, had warned hikers of icy conditions and urged them to don traction spikes or even full-on crampons typically worn by high-altitude climbers.

Evidently not everybody received or heeded this warning, including some members of a college religious club who stumbled into the hut at about the time of our arrival. Two of the hikers had fallen on ice; one smashed her nose, the other sustained a nasty gash on her forehead.

A few subsequently purchased boot spikes at the hut, but even then, there were some who seemed unprepared for the descent, as we discovered at that first icy section. In truth, we also were dismayed by how much ice had spread and hardened in less than 24 hours.

The college group arrived just as we were tying one end of the rope to a fir tree, leaving the loose end to grip and lower ourselves backwards, one at a time, past the dangerous ice. As I prepared to descend, I called out to the students: “Hey, folks, I think you’d better use the rope, too.”

“Thanks! We really appreciate it!”

“No problem. Wait here. We’ll go first.”

One by one we inched our way downward like spiders dangling from a web strand, and shivered while the college crew followed suit.

One young woman instantly tumbled off the trail and nearly skittered into the trees. This prompted a male classmate to lunge untethered to her “rescue,” in the process knocking her over and nearly sending both of them down a ravine.

“Whoa! Hold up!” we cried.

Tom, who had positioned himself at the bottom of the rope and also chopped steps with an ice ax, watched the hapless pair regain their feet and encouraged them as they worked their way down to more secure footing.

Those already below the hairy section, including me, kept the rope taut and held on to each hiker after they reached safer ground.

I will say this: Amid so much chaos and potential peril, everybody kept calm, everybody lent a helping hand, nobody got hurt.

In the middle of the delicate maneuver, one thought gnawed at my mind. The group we helped represented only about a third of the mob that undoubtedly was approaching from the hut. If we helped all the other hikers we might not get back to the trailhead until dark. Then, Tom and I still would have to drive back to Connecticut, Zack to Massachusetts, and Jenna and Sean to New York. The prospect of a long day becoming even longer loomed.

I watched one of the college students take charge of the rope. He guided his companions carefully and efficiently. I called over to him.

“Keep the rope,” I said. “You’ll need it.”

“Wow. That’s awfully generous. Can I pay you for it?”

I shook my head. In truth, I had found the rope discarded on the side of the road while running one day.

“Just pay it forward,” I said. “One day someone else may need a rope, and you can give it away then.”

I glanced at my watch. Time to continue heading down the trail.

“Good luck, guys!” I called. We marched away.

One more challenge awaited us. A newly formed ice dam blocked a stream that the trail crossed, causing foot-deep slushy water to rush over a narrow timber bridge.

Sean, Zack and Tom foraged for nearby branches and placed them over the wooden beam to provide a dry but shaky path over the stream. Jenna scampered over it like a ballerina.

Not me. I sloshed ankle-deep through the torrent, using trekking poles for balance.

“I don’t care if my feet get wet,” I said. “I just don’t want the rest of me to be soaked when I fall in.”

Happily, the rest of the hike was uneventful but exhilarating. Nineteen Mile Brook tumbled alongside the trail; the heady aroma of balsam wafted through crisp air; red squirrels scurried among the underbrush; wispy clouds scudded across a cerulean sky.

In such settings my mind wanders, and I found myself thinking about the rope and all it symbolized.

In one light-hearted rumination the religious students adopt the coiled line as a religious icon and incorporate it into a spiritual tale: “The Parable of The Rope.” Generations of theology students would tell the story of that chance encounter in the White Mountains, in which a mustachioed stranger offered a group of wayward acolytes a simple gift.

Jenna got into the whimsical spirit.

“They would cut up the original rope into small pieces, and every member of the religious order would get one as part of their worship,” she said.

After briefly indulging in this flight of fancy I began thinking about what the rope really represented: a bond of responsibility shared by all who inhabit the planet.

I confess to feeling annoyed initially by the students because they not only delayed our descent but also put us at risk, but I’m certain every member of our group quickly realized we had not just an obligation but a desire to help.

In the end, the students were thankful for our assistance, and we were grateful for the opportunity to offer it. It indeed is better to give than to receive. I have no doubt that one day the rope’s recipients will pay it forward.

We will all remain tied.