The Sun shines through sinewy veins-
Twisting leaves dancing on a
Fall breeze.
The Lists
In the Spring of 2014, I attended the awards ceremony for the Appalachian Mountain Club's recognition of the completion of their "lists". In the Fall of 2013, I had completed the 48 Four Thousand footers in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It was a big deal for me. Without knowing about the "list", I had started it back in the mid-1980's with the Carter Ridgeline, my first backpacking trek. This happened because I had started dating P. who loved being in the mountains....or on the ocean. Eventually I let him float out into the open seas, perhaps thinking he would, like jetsam, float back into my arms. Years went by, and postcards arrived from farther and farther away places. Fiji. Tonga. Samoa. In New Zealand, he met a sailor-woman who floated into HIS dreams and open arms. They bought a boat together to sail the seas, and the postcards stopped coming. I hold no regrets. He gave me the gift of the mountains.
The Northeast Mountains: slideshow
As I go through boxes of miscellaneous items in order to purge, trash or continue to treasure now that I am "home", I find the DVD from the AMC ceremony and the small sew-on patch containing two snowy mountain peaks with "4000" above them and "AMC" on them. I can only smile from nostalgia.
As I go through boxes of miscellaneous items in order to purge, trash or continue to treasure now that I am "home", I find the DVD from the AMC ceremony and the small sew-on patch containing two snowy mountain peaks with "4000" above them and "AMC" on them. I can only smile from nostalgia.
Our banquet dinner had brought us together to compare experiences of the various summits and their trails. On my tray, I had scooped up a slice of pizza, then a small salad, continued down the line to get my drink and cookie, then found a seat at a small round cafeteria table with some other folks. Now, as "banquets" go, this was no fancy food. But, for us hikers and backpackers, at the end of a long and grueling hiking day, pizza and salad are truly a feast!
"What was your favorite peak?" was the question of the day.
Mine?
"I loved the Bonds!" or maybe "Camping overnight just below the Moriah summit in the full moon."
I could wax nostalgic about the Carters, I suppose. And then there was the sunrise over the Presidentials from my camp spot in the col between Pierce and Eisenhower. Hard to pick one.
After dinner, we hiked ourselves into the auditorium to sit for the ceremony. The room, full with those whose sub-cultured lives revolve around the Northeast High Peaks, became our treasure chest of nostalgia and pride. I found a seat two rows back on the left.
The AMC 4000 Footer board talked business, then we watched the 15 minute DVD containing excerpts from the essays we had written interspersed with our sent photos, backdropped with the gorgeous scenery that draws us back into these mountains again and again. We, then, each got called to come and get our certificate for the specific list we had completed. Mine: New Hampshire 4000 footers...all 48 of them!
"What was your favorite peak?" was the question of the day.
Mine?
"I loved the Bonds!" or maybe "Camping overnight just below the Moriah summit in the full moon."
I could wax nostalgic about the Carters, I suppose. And then there was the sunrise over the Presidentials from my camp spot in the col between Pierce and Eisenhower. Hard to pick one.
After dinner, we hiked ourselves into the auditorium to sit for the ceremony. The room, full with those whose sub-cultured lives revolve around the Northeast High Peaks, became our treasure chest of nostalgia and pride. I found a seat two rows back on the left.
The AMC 4000 Footer board talked business, then we watched the 15 minute DVD containing excerpts from the essays we had written interspersed with our sent photos, backdropped with the gorgeous scenery that draws us back into these mountains again and again. We, then, each got called to come and get our certificate for the specific list we had completed. Mine: New Hampshire 4000 footers...all 48 of them!
I pull the DVD out of the box and push it into the laptop for viewing. While I bask in nostalgia, I hear the Whites calling their Sirensong in my direction.
Later, I print out the other lists that get awarded: I already have the New England Hundred Highest, and add to my clipboard, the Northeast 111, the New England 67, and New Hampshire 52 with a View. Those original 4000's are easily ticked off the 100 Highest, NE 67, and Northeast 111 lists. Very gratifying.
Later, I print out the other lists that get awarded: I already have the New England Hundred Highest, and add to my clipboard, the Northeast 111, the New England 67, and New Hampshire 52 with a View. Those original 4000's are easily ticked off the 100 Highest, NE 67, and Northeast 111 lists. Very gratifying.
Blustery Wind or Windy Blust?
I Swear!
I have never considered myself one of those "Die-Hard" hikers. You know, the kind that strips naked and crawls up the trail with only a knife blade between the teeth, only stopping to lap up fern-tip dew drops for hydration? I have never stood up in hurricane winds, ripping off my outer clothing layers to bang my fists on my bare chest like Tarzan in the wild. I like the comfort of warm clothing and nutritious food, guzzling clean water, hiking in the light, and taking my time. I'm just a regular hiker person.
But...and I say it again...BUT....if someone joins a Hiking Meet Up group, one might just think that a little bit of blustery wind would not stop a lovely day hike up Cardigan. We're told and informed and educated about "layers" of clothing and the slogan that "Cotton Kills!" We should be prepared! I do not linger atop the peak for very long. Once down off of the exposed granite, I remove the rain layers, then the Down. It's a beautiful day for a hike, a bit cloudy, but the blaring sun would have felt too warm. And the "hearty breeze" keeps away those pesky late-season mosquitoes for sure!
The leaves, now all browns and golds, have fallen from their branches and layer themselves on the ground to seek respite from their own experience of being windblown. I disturb the blanket of leaves as I walk and search for anything dangerous underneath. A foot of muddy muck. A slimy and slippery moss covered tree root. A hard granite rock. Most trees have bared their own chests to the season, ready to brave it all without leaf protection. I see more of the mountain's form this way, the full topography, the sexy curves.
I have never considered myself one of those "Die-Hard" hikers. You know, the kind that strips naked and crawls up the trail with only a knife blade between the teeth, only stopping to lap up fern-tip dew drops for hydration? I have never stood up in hurricane winds, ripping off my outer clothing layers to bang my fists on my bare chest like Tarzan in the wild. I like the comfort of warm clothing and nutritious food, guzzling clean water, hiking in the light, and taking my time. I'm just a regular hiker person.
But...and I say it again...BUT....if someone joins a Hiking Meet Up group, one might just think that a little bit of blustery wind would not stop a lovely day hike up Cardigan. We're told and informed and educated about "layers" of clothing and the slogan that "Cotton Kills!" We should be prepared! I do not linger atop the peak for very long. Once down off of the exposed granite, I remove the rain layers, then the Down. It's a beautiful day for a hike, a bit cloudy, but the blaring sun would have felt too warm. And the "hearty breeze" keeps away those pesky late-season mosquitoes for sure!
The leaves, now all browns and golds, have fallen from their branches and layer themselves on the ground to seek respite from their own experience of being windblown. I disturb the blanket of leaves as I walk and search for anything dangerous underneath. A foot of muddy muck. A slimy and slippery moss covered tree root. A hard granite rock. Most trees have bared their own chests to the season, ready to brave it all without leaf protection. I see more of the mountain's form this way, the full topography, the sexy curves.
The Babbling Brook
I drive north to the Sandwich Notch Rd. and trailheads that will afford me an easy in and out overnight camp spot. Happy to have 4WD as my truck crawls along the bumpy and rutted dirt road, I find a small pull off next to a trail sign for the Algonquin Trail.
I drive north to the Sandwich Notch Rd. and trailheads that will afford me an easy in and out overnight camp spot. Happy to have 4WD as my truck crawls along the bumpy and rutted dirt road, I find a small pull off next to a trail sign for the Algonquin Trail.
I eat dinner at the truck and pack up the tent and sleeping gear for a short walk into the woods. I head off trail through some trees and towards the rushing sounds of water. Once I can't see the trail, I choose a spot behind some larger trees and next to a babbling brook, set up camp and make a cup of hot chocolate. Then, by dark, I'm ready to settle in for the evening. Of course, it's only 4:30 p.m. Did I say "long evening"? I listen to four, maybe five, okay, well, perhaps six podcasts (offline) before I allow myself sleep. I put my iPad mini on my chest inside my zero degree sleeping bag with it's speaker facing up towards my ears. I get comfortable on my back and listen to two of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, a Ted Radio Hour, a Fresh Air interview, a Moth Story hour, and an On Being interview about taking old stories and asking new questions. I ponder. Is this how we change the story? Ask new questions of it? Here's one? "Can I stomach hiking with a group of 20 for the sake of the social aspect of it?"
Slow Death
I bring my Motherpeace Tarot cards along and pick one for the day's hiking meditation:
Death tilted to the left....so, "slow" death. Now, I love this card, as does anyone familiar with Tarot. It never means "literal" death. It's always the "death" of old patterns, attitudes, or belief systems. I ponder on this as I hike up to the summit of Mt. Israel. What is dying away? Besides the season's warmth. Here I am hiking solo—again. Is this the story I need to change? I feel stuck between the "lone wolf" hiking life and the desire for camaraderie.
I pass several young people with full packs on their way out of the wilderness, but see no one else on the way in. I have the ascent all to myself.
The winds are equally as blustering today on top as they were on Cardigan yesterday. I rip off my outer layers and bang my fists on my bare chest.
Well, that would change the story for sure, wouldn't it? Actually, I pull my hood layers closer around my face to keep the winds off my neck, take some photos, and head back down into the trees.
I bring my Motherpeace Tarot cards along and pick one for the day's hiking meditation:
Death tilted to the left....so, "slow" death. Now, I love this card, as does anyone familiar with Tarot. It never means "literal" death. It's always the "death" of old patterns, attitudes, or belief systems. I ponder on this as I hike up to the summit of Mt. Israel. What is dying away? Besides the season's warmth. Here I am hiking solo—again. Is this the story I need to change? I feel stuck between the "lone wolf" hiking life and the desire for camaraderie.
I pass several young people with full packs on their way out of the wilderness, but see no one else on the way in. I have the ascent all to myself.
The winds are equally as blustering today on top as they were on Cardigan yesterday. I rip off my outer layers and bang my fists on my bare chest.
Well, that would change the story for sure, wouldn't it? Actually, I pull my hood layers closer around my face to keep the winds off my neck, take some photos, and head back down into the trees.
Public Apology
Once home, I review the Meet Up e-mail thread with the info about the Cardigan hike. Oops! Sunday? Not Saturday? I take back having called the group of 20 "Wind Wimps!" I hope, after all, they had enough layers with them to be protected from the gusts that still blew hard, even on Sunday. I'll have to spy on another group sometime, or just suck it up and sign up to join. Change the story.
Once home, I review the Meet Up e-mail thread with the info about the Cardigan hike. Oops! Sunday? Not Saturday? I take back having called the group of 20 "Wind Wimps!" I hope, after all, they had enough layers with them to be protected from the gusts that still blew hard, even on Sunday. I'll have to spy on another group sometime, or just suck it up and sign up to join. Change the story.
NEHH Peakbag
While up around Rutland, VT the following weekend, I leave some time to drive over Rt 4 to dayhike Mt. Pico, one of the remaining Vermont New England Hundred Highest peaks still on my list. Driving north the day before, I could see the frost and snow covered peaks of Pico, Mendon, and Killington. Just an hour north of where I live makes all the difference. Good thing I brought some YakTraks foot gripping pull-ons. Microspikes not needed yet! But soon!
While up around Rutland, VT the following weekend, I leave some time to drive over Rt 4 to dayhike Mt. Pico, one of the remaining Vermont New England Hundred Highest peaks still on my list. Driving north the day before, I could see the frost and snow covered peaks of Pico, Mendon, and Killington. Just an hour north of where I live makes all the difference. Good thing I brought some YakTraks foot gripping pull-ons. Microspikes not needed yet! But soon!