Three Hills for Mother’s Day

I have long wanted to hike to Third Hill, the far outpost of York, Maine’s rangy Mount Agamenticus. Third Hill has a reputation for being challenging to find.  I’ve known more than one person who has ended up in South Berwick or other places but not at Third Hill.

But over the past few years, new trail signage, improved trails, and the development of a better guide-type map to Aggie’s trail system have made it much easier to negotiate the region’s many trails.

The 10,000 acres of the Mount Agamenticus Conservation Region, once a mix of sheep pasture, woodlots and farmland, is now the largest tract of coastal forest between Acadia National Park and the Jersey Pine Barrens. I’ve never heard of anyone getting fatally lost in these woods, but for many years, it was (and still is, in places) fairly easy to get annoyingly lost, and end up on an unfamiliar road miles from your car (I’ve been there).

So now, Mother’s Day was here, and I wanted to hike. Husband and son both had extensive work/homework commitments that meant we had to stay local. Thanks to the long cold winter, the leaves hadn’t yet fluffed out. The forest would be light and airy, with plenty of views and open terrain.

A perfect day for hiking to Third Hill.

The Mount Agamenticus map shows a variety of trails leading to Third Hill. The Great Marsh Trail, for example, follows an old logging road from Lower County Road in South Berwick (or to the south, from Old Mountain Road in York), until reaching the junction where a trail climbs to the Hill. We opted to hike from the summit of Mount Agamenticus to Second Hill, and from there to Third, and then backtrack with a slight modification to avoid climbing to the summit of Second Hill twice.

I kept the map handy, because I knew we needed to pay close attention to the many turns and trail junctions (Witch Hazel to Ring to Chestnut Oak to Porcupine to Second Hill to Notch to Wheel to Great Marsh to Third Hill). We misread the sign at one junction and hiked for about a third of a mile in the wrong direction on the Porcupine Trail, but, thanks to the map, recognized the mistake when we saw the Rocky Road trail sign.

The climb up to Second Hill,   after turning off the Porcupine Trail.  The Butterfly Loop is another trail that climbs along the ridge of Second Hill and through forest, abandoned fields, and along a talus slope. A good option for a future Mother's Day.

The climb up to Second Hill. The Dragonfly Loop is another trail that climbs along the ridge of Second Hill and through forest, abandoned fields, and along a talus slope. A good option for a future Mother’s Day.

After retracing our steps, we followed the Porcupine Trail to the turn for Second Hill,  where we had lunch on the ledges and could see the green hump of Third Hill to the northeast.

We then walked along the Second Hill ridge to a short trail connecting to the Notch Trail, which we then followed to the well-marked Wheel Trail, which landed us on the Great Marsh Trail. It wasn’t immediately clear where the trail to Third Hill picked up, but I noticed two hemlocks, one on each side of the trail, marked with little wooden painted owls, almost as if the owls were welcoming us into the woods. Sure enough, a left (northerly) turn through the owls  lead to  a sign for Third Hill.

A few paces up the trail, a sign warned that trails were not marked further on, as the map also suggests. But to the right, another owl pointed to a path, along with white blazes.

Following the owls (and white blazes) uphill, we climbed on granite slabs that felt more White Mountain-ish than back yard.

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The final push up to Third Hill.

And we made it, collapsing on a carpet of pine needles on a rock slab below the white pine tree hosting the sign marking Third Hill.  We rested in the shade, enjoying complete solitude. Here in our own backyard, home to multitudes, we had the Third Hill summit to ourselves on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

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We didn’t have fabulous views at the summit – the 692-foot main summit of Mt. A definitely offers the best views, especially of the ocean – but we also didn’t do extensive explorations of the ledges and little side trails that might lead to views. (We hadn’t planned well, didn’t have enough water, and were conserving our energy).

As we hiked, the day grew increasingly warm, to almost 90 degrees. We finished up our water on top of Third Hill and had to hike back to the Mount A summit (about 2.5 miles) with just a few sips. Our warm-up spring hike became a summer slog, minus the air conditioning created by the oak and beech forest that dominates Mount Agamenticus.

Everyone, including me, wanted to complain, but no one did.  It was Mother’s Day, after all, and this was my Mother’s Day hike.

On the way back, I told my son that even though it felt like we might die of thirst, it actually took quite a while for that happen, and we’d definitely make it back to the car, where we had some water, before any of us passed out. (I wasn’t quite sure about the not passing out part, but we did make it back without incident).

All in all, a great Mother’s Day.  I reached Third Hill, didn’t pass out from heat exhaustion, and know that the next hike, by comparison, will feel like a breeze.  Dragonfly Loop, here we come!

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The open forest of white pines on top of Third Hill.

 

Notes and resources

Update: I’m happy to report that trail signage at Mt. A has improved even more. On a hike in fall 2017, I found the trail to Third Hill much easier to navigate.  The gray owls remain a friendly trail marker.  I’ve also updated the link to the map (above) and here.

The hike to Third Hill is not a killer hike, but it’s not an easy stroll either, with lots of ups and downs. I estimate that the hike we did is about five miles RT (but maybe it’s a little shorter and it seemed longer because of the heat). It’s a good family hike for elementary age kids and older, but not the youngest set unless they are already hard-core.

The five-mile-ish (one way) Sea to Summit hike, which I’ve written about before, is another great hike in the Agamenticus region.

The staff and volunteers of the Mount Agamenticus Conservation Region have been doing a fabulous job of improving trails, facilities and the other aspects of Mount A and the surrounding conservation land. 

King Pine, the Little Mountain That Could

King Pine is known for the stately white pines that crown its summit.

King Pine is known for the stately white pines that crown its summit.

Here we are in the depths of January, and more than six weeks have passed since a major snowfall.  Up north, snowmakers and groomers bust their tails trying to work their magic, but variable weather makes it difficult to write a truly upbeat ski report.  The language of ski reports* is always optimistic, but I know what those words mean.

Frozen granular” = “Hard-packed snow with a glazing of ice pebbles concealing some large patches of ice.”

The surface yesterday was still firm, but definitely on the mend, fun, and not difficult to lay an edge into” = “The slopes are like concrete but if you can carve into the ice, you’ll get down the mountain.”

Once again some squeeky corduroy, very nice for carving and even some skidding” =  “Skiing on groomed terrain isn’t impossible, but you will need to lean hard into the ice or feel your skis skid sideways down the mountain.”

These flamingos, below the Black Bear Triple Chair, are a well-known harbinger of winter at King Pine.

These flamingos, below the Black Bear Triple Chair, are a well-known harbinger of winter at King Pine.

What these reports tell me is that now is the time for a visit to King Pine, the Little Mountain That Could, especially for skiers with  younger children.  King Pine doesn’t offer much in the way of vertical (350 feet), and has only 17 trails, but during a lengthy patch of variable weather, when every other area is stiff and scratchy, conditions at King Pine are always consistently good, with plentiful snowmaking and expert groomers who know how to spread their snow around this small friendly mountain.

With its reliable snow and family vibe, King Pine is sort of a miniature version of Bretton Woods.  Also, like Bretton Woods, King Pine, located in a protected valley, seldom feels the impact of a bitter wind. A bonus for me is that King Pine is just an hour and 20 minutes from my house, so I can enjoy a leisurely Sunday morning at home and then head north to take advantage of the $26 Sunday afternoon ticket (about $10 less for kids).

I love hopping off the lift and into this grove of pine trees on the summit of King Pine.

I love hopping off the lift and into this grove of pine trees on the summit of King Pine.

King Pine’s ski school is another plus.  Years ago, I visited Smugglers Notch in Vermont based on its reputation for children’s programs.  But the lessons turned out to be one big cattle call, with hundreds of nervous kids herded into their 20-student groups.

Kids love the sense of independence available to King Pine skiers.

Kids love the sense of independence available to King Pine skiers.

At King Pine, the instructors are generally not transient seasonal employees, but locals of varied ages and backgrounds who have been teaching for years. They know kids and skiing.  The classes are small. The Seal took intermediate-level lessons here for two seasons and he typically had two or three other students in his class. The short runs are easy for kids to manage and help build their confidence.

 

Expert skiers may get bored with King Pine’s short runs, unless they are parents of young children.  Then those parents will gladly enjoy their workouts on King Pine’s two double-black slopes while the kids gain confidence during their lessons.  Maybe those parents will enjoy a beer in the laid-back Trails End lounge and watch their school-age kids race around the mountain. King Pine has that 1970s vibe in which kids can be independent masters of their own universe.  And if they fall and are struggling to get up, a ski patroller or other adult is always going to stop and help them get back on their feet.

A view of Purity Spring Lake from the top of Pitch Pine, one of the mountains steepest trails.

A view of Purity Spring Lake from the top of Pitch Pine, one of the mountain’s steepest trails.

King Pine may be old school, but has definitely kept up with the times. High-speed triple and quad chairs keep skiers moving. I’ve been to King Pine more times than I can count, and I can’t ever recall waiting more than a few minutes to get back on the lift (the one exception is during the February school vacation week, when King Pine is crowded with vacationing families and young skiers participating in its annual noncompetitive Ski Camp).

King Pine is part of the family-owned Purity Spring Resort, which offers a plethora of activities for non-skiiers, including snow tubing, ice skating, sleigh rides, snowshoeing, and cross-country skiing (admittedly, the cross-country skiing isn’t all that exciting, but the main loop provides a solid hour-long-ish workout).

Purity Spring offers inn-type lodging, a solid restaurant, and a health club with a swimming pool (plus the other activities).  Although we usually visit King Pine as a day trip, I have spent a couple of weekends there for extended family gatherings. The lodging is “New England charming” rather than upscale condo (think creaking floorboards and rooms of various shapes, sizes and furnishings).  I like that sort of thing, but if you must have your flat-screen TVs and shiny modern rooms, then you’re probably better off staying in North Conway, about 30 minutes away.

King Pine is definitely not Taos, with all of its vertical feet, bowls, and legendary powder glory. I went to Taos last year and felt very much at home, thanks to a lack of snow that left the slopes icy and hard.

Back in Freedom, New Hampshire, at the Little Mountain that Could, those high-speed lifts chugged along. Probably a  few kids experienced a surge of glory as they jumped off the rails in the terrain park. Otherwise, not much glamour–just lots of happy skiers gliding and turning down the slopes.

*All quotes about ski conditions pulled from various ski area websites that may wish to remain anonymous until a major storm dumps a foot of fresh snow in the mountains.

Additional Resources

For information on more deals, like the Moonlight Family Four-Pack, see King Pine’s Specials page.

I’ve always wanted to visit the Inn at Crystal Lake and its Palmer House Pub, just a few miles down Route 153 in Eaton, New Hampshire.

Bretton Woods: birches, beautiful snow, and bargains

In this new year, I’m taking some time away from longer projects to write about New England ski areas. I’ve been skiing since junior high (back in the days when kids went to junior high) and over the years have visited most ski areas in New England, including quite a few that no longer exist (Mount Hogback anyone? Or Maple Valley?).

Bretton Woods, a ski area I once found hospitable but somewhat boring, has become one of my favorites in recent years, thanks to the development there of many intermediate-level glades around the mountain, along with its beautiful snow, and the great deals it offers throughout the winter and spring.  The view of Mount Washington is an added bonus.

First, the glades.  

Heading down the gentle and wide open glades of the Aggassiz Trail. Denser but still do-able glades await off many of the mountain's main trails.

Heading down the gentle and wide open glades of the Aggassiz Trail. Denser but still do-able glades await off many of the mountain’s main trails.

I’m terrified of plunging down a steep slope into groves of birch and spruce trees. For a long time, I didn’t understand why anyone would risk their life doing such a thing, or why ski areas would create such opportunities for head-on collisions and impalings, even given the “death waiver” you sign when purchasing the ticket.

But then I discovered the joy of hopping around in the forest in the sweet glades at Bretton Woods — forested areas of “green” or “blue” slopes that have been thinned out to create glades that almost anyone can ski.  The trees are beautiful, my pace is slow, and I enjoy the opportunity to tune up my turning skills.  I’ll even give some of the “black diamond” glades a go, but I’ll leave the double-blacks to the experts.

Onto the snow

Bretton Woods pays attention to snowmaking and grooming in a big way. Its snow guns and groomers work magic each night to create, from New England hardpack, wide carpets of smooth corduroy. On days when other areas are suffering from the effects of snow followed by rain followed by a deep freeze (i.e. concrete disguised by a fresh thin layer of man-made snow), the trails at Bretton Woods are soft and friendly.

Bretton Woods is known for its green and blue “cruiser” trails that offer less-confident skiers plenty of room to enjoy easygoing zigzags down the mountain.  On my first visit to BW about ten years ago, I enjoyed these runs, but got bored after a while.  Since that time, the mountain has expanded to three peaks, and exploring all the possibilities makes for a full day of skiing or riding.

On this visit in mid-December, we were treated to a layer of fresh powder, but the skiing would have been good even if it hadn't snowed, thanks to the great snowmaking and grooming at BW.

On this visit in mid-December,  (with my $19 tickets!) we were treated to a layer of fresh powder, but the skiing would have been good even if it hadn’t snowed, thanks to the great snowmaking and grooming at BW.

Finally, the deals

Lift tickets at Bretton Woods are a pricey $85 (full day weekend), but unlike Maine’s Sunday River, Bretton Woods offers plenty of deals, which makes me feel good about returning again and again.  I don’t mind paying full price once in a while when I know that I can buy $19 advance early season tickets, or use the $65 “anytime” tickets that I bought in November during the “full price” New England school vacation week.  I’ve already marked my calendar for Super Bowl Sunday ($49), St. Patrick’s Day ($17), and Beach Party Saturday ($25).  But I’ll miss the Patriot’s Day deal ($17.76 plus a voucher for the following season) because I’ll be at Vermont’s Jay Peak.  Bretton Woods also offers free lessons to beginners on certain pre-holiday December weekends.

Bretton Woods offers many other enticements, including a cozy and spacious lodge spread out over three floors, a summit restaurant AND a candy store–Chutters on the Mountain—and also has a reputation for great children’s programs (including an all-weather playground next the lodge and a climbing wall in the lodge).

Visitors can stay at the historic Mount Washington Hotel (great Sunday-Thursday deals), or at the more motel-ish Bretton Woods Lodge.  One small drawback is that all the hospitality is owned by the same corporation, Omni.  The restaurants can be packed and feel short on staff. A local restaurant or two would be nice, but you can’t always have it all, and North Conway, with many choices, is only a half-hour away.

However, the lodge cafeteria is way above average — in fact, I’ll so far as to call it great for a ski lodge cafeteria.  How many ski areas in the East offer a stir-fry bar with the opportunity to purchase a reasonably price big bowl of veggies, rice and tofu (or other protein)? I dispensed with my brown bag on visits last winter.

When I skied at Bretton Woods in early December, a hot dog/chili stand had replaced the stir-fry bar, but I haven’t given up hope that the stir-fry bar will return (the staff was uncertain).  If not, my despair will force me to flee up the mountain to Latitude 44, because a peppermint schnapps hot cocoa will surely take the edge off my disappointment, especially if the temperature is hovering around 10 degrees.

That’s Bretton Woods, where snow is sweet and the living is easy.  It almost sounds like a song.

Resources:

Okay, the fox wasn't at Bretton Woods, but I did see him on Route 302, just a few miles away, on my way to the mountain.

Okay, the fox wasn’t at Bretton Woods, but I did see him on Route 302, just a few miles away, on my way to the mountain last year on a below-zero St. Patrick’s Day.  The temps did warm up to 15 degrees, with no wind (BW is also well-sheltered from heavy winds), so the living was still easy.

Bretton Woods, including links to lodging in condos and at the Mount Washington Hotel, Bretton Arms Inn, and Bretton Woods Lodge.  The resort also offers cross-country skiing, and has amenities like swimming pools and spa services.

If you are curious about Mount Hogback and Maple Valley Ski Area, see the New England Lost Ski Areas Project (NELSAP).

#BrettonWoods #Skiing #NewEnglandskiing #mountains #WhiteMountains #skitheeast

Intersecting slopes on Mount Chocorua, New Hampshire

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Climbing the ledges to the summit of Chocorua in Albany, N.H.

As we hauled ourselves up the granite cone of New Hampshire’s 3,478-foot Mount Chocorua, a middle-aged woman picking her way down the granite ledges groaned as she stretched out her legs to ease herself down an especially large slab.

My son paused to let her pass.

“I bet this hike is a piece of cake for you, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“Yup,” he said, as he pulled himself up the rock.

I wasn’t sure that I had heard correctly. “Did my son just tell you this hike was a piece of cake?” I asked the woman as she passed me.

“Well, I asked him,” she said,  “and he agreed.”

Was this the same kid who had to be enticed up mountains with M & Ms, Pringles, and chocolate chip cookies?

In planning the climb up Chocorua,the most southerly of the “big mountains” in the White Mountains, I’d wondered if the hike would be one of those mental drag events for all concerned (“Come on, just enough another half-mile to the summit, eat some cookies, you can do it!”)  I knew that physically, The Seal was more than capable of completing a 7.5 mile hike. But today’s hike would be the longest he’d ever attempted.

We ate our Pringles and sandwiches at the Jim Liberty Cabin.  I knew the cabin was on the side of the mountain, but imagined something a bit more ramshackle. The cabin was cleaner and cozier than I'd envisioned and I'm making plans to return for an overnight (first-come, first-serve).

We ate our Pringles and sandwiches at the Jim Liberty Cabin. I’d read that about the cabin and had imagined something a bit more dilapidated. The cabin was clean and cozy with sleeping space for about 8 people.  I’m making plans to return for an overnight (first-come, first-serve). Pringles, by the way, are my chip of choice on the trail because of the crush-proof can.

On this hike, everyone enjoyed the junk food—but as a treat and not a psychological necessity.  On the slope of Mount Chocorua, I  learned that that our personal slopes have intersected. My son’s has been steadily rising by micro-degrees.  Mine (and that of my husband) is slowly declining. We’re not plunging towards zero, but our lines aren’t moving upward.

The kid is beating the pants off of us.

He’s been hiking for years – sometimes with more enthusiasm than others, but the enthusiasm usually petered out after a few miles. So up until this perfect Columbus Day Sunday, I’d always selected hikes of  four, five or six miles tops.  Adding in a small pack of kids, if possible, helped to push the hiking drive.

View of the Sandwich Range from the ledges of the Liberty Trail.

View of the Sandwich Range from the ledges of the Liberty Trail.

I knew this day was coming. This summer, The Seal surpassed me in height.  This fall, he beat me in a 5K.  Next year, he’ll beat my husband.

From a ledge near the summit, looking out over Lake Chocorua and several others.

From a ledge near the summit, looking out over Lake Chocorua and several others.

The worst part of hiking, aside from the climb up, is the day after. I love hiking, but it kills me. I wake up stiff and creaky, wishing that a hot tub would magically appear in my backyard.

On the day after the Chocorua hike, the Seal bounced out of bed at 6 a.m. without a whimper. I asked him how he was feeling.

“Fine,” he said as he headed down the hall for a Minecraft session on the computer.

I crept to the kitchen to make coffee, feeling decrepit but thrilled about the intersecting slopes (besides, mine isn’t going downhill all that much). During years of Lyme Disease, it was frightening to watch my child head downhill with no explanation or diagnosis. Also, I’m happy to see The Seal, who never was interested in kicking soccer balls or shooting baskets, build confidence by climbing mountains.

Next year, Mount Katahdin. And after that, a hot tub?

Resources

We hiked a loop, up the Liberty Trail and down the Brook Trail (about 7.5 miles RT).  The Liberty Trail, a one-time carriage road, has fairly easy footing (by White Mountains standards) until you arrive at the ledges, while the Brook Trail has rougher footing and more rocks. This U.S. Forest Service  document provides basic trail descriptions and driving directions to each trailhead.

I’ve also hiked the Piper Trail, directly off Route 16, and probably the most popular route to the summit.  This is a busy mountain on fall weekends, so don’t expect solitude.

A good map is a must when hiking on Chocorua, due to the variety of trails and their many intersections.

Up in the air at Kluane National Park, Yukon Territory

The plane was waiting at Haines Junction airport.

At the Haines Junction Airport, our 1980 Cessna. Planes sure do have a long lifespan.  I’m glad I didn’t know that we were flightseeing in a plane that pre-dates the personal computer. If only well-maintained computers lasted this long.

The clearing weather presented both a threat (mostly to our wallets) and an opportunity.  As we pulled into Haines Junction, we debated our options.

The circle was nearly complete.  Along with my 13-year-old son, my Alaskan friend Elizabeth and I had traveled from Juneau to Skagway, and over White Pass to Carcross and Whitehorse. Canoed on the Yukon River and soaked in the Takhini hot springs.

Should we venture out to the Kluane-St. Elias Ice Fields — the world’s largest non-polar icefields and the largest protected natural area in the world? The plane was small, the price steep. Plus, after packing so much in already, might we fail to appreciate the awesomeness of the ice fields?

I reminded myself — and explained to my son — that as a living-on-the-edge 20-something, I had emptied my bank account to take a similarly expensive flight to Glacier Bay National Park. Although it’s  possible that I’ll get to Haines Junction again, I had to admit that it’s not likely. Hence, we went for it.

We began our flight over brown green alpine slopes where we could see specks of Dall sheep grazing, but soon began to fly up these glacier rivers into the heart of the Kluane ice fields.

We began our flight over brown green alpine slopes where we could see specks of Dall sheep grazing, but soon began to fly up these glacier rivers into the heart of the St. Elias-Kluane Ice Fields. Below, rivers of ice, trimmed with layer of gray silt.

As the plane buzzed its way deeper into the remote ice fields, the pilot pointed out different peaks, including Mount Kennedy, named for JFK after his assassination, and climbed in 1965 by his brother Robert — the only mountain Robert ever climbed.

robert kennedy photoThe expedition was the first attempt to climb Mount Kennedy. The highly experienced team included Jim Whittaker and Barry Prather, both part of the first American team to climb Mount Everest. Senator Robert Kennedy had been invited to join them, although he had a fear of heights and had never climbed any mountains (not even Mount Washington).  He accepted the invitation, he said, “for personal reasons that seemed compelling” and he “returned with a feeling — apart from exhaustion — of exhilaration and extreme gratification.”  Despite attempts to keep his participation a secret, word leaked out. The climb became a huge media event (for more, see newscast clip and other resources at the bottom of the post).

Robert Kennedy left several JFK mementos on Mount Kennedy, including his watch, a copy of JFK’s first inaugural address, and several PT boat tie clips.

This is either Mount X or Mount Kennedy, named for JFK.  Bobby Kennedy climbed Mount Kennedy (which is a major alpine expedition, not a hike) and left his brother's watch and some other artifacts on Mount Kennedy.

I took this photo near Mount Logan.  I believe it is Mount Kennedy (which is a subpeak of Mount Logan), but am not positive. What I am sure of:  if you find yourself in Haines Junction on a clear day, the flightseeing tour is a not-to-be missed experience.

In his Life magazine article, Kennedy wrote about how impressed he was by the climbers’ measured courage.  The climbers told him that “politics was far more dangerous than climbing.”

A view of Mount Logan, Canada's highest at X feet.  In the distance (but not in this photo), we could also see Mount Elias, the second tallest mountain in the US.

A view of Mount Logan, Canada’s highest at 19,551 feet, which puts it second in line behind Denali in North America.  On the tour, we also glimpsed Mount St. Elias (in Alaska), Glacier Bay, and the Pacific Ocean.

Today, scientists study the ice fields to learn more about climate change. This past summer (2014), bad weather stranded a group of Japanese scientists for two weeks after their pick-up date, at the camp pictured below:

In the heart of the ice fields, Japanese scientists who had been conducting research were stuck on the ice fields two weeks after their departure date due to bad weather. The scientists had just been flown out that morning.

A view of the research camp.  The stranded scientists were picked up earlier on the day of our flightseeing tour. Note the plane tracks on the ice fields.

A "close up" view of the research station. Note that one person is still down there, and hopefully still sane after spending two weeks of waiting out the rain, fog and snow.

A “close up” view of camp. Note that one person was still down there, and hopefully still sane after spending two weeks of waiting out the rain, fog and snow, in very close quarters.

A moulin in the ice field.

A moulin in the ice field. A moulin is a vertical shaft through which water melts and flows to the bottom of the glacier, where it serves as a puddle-like lubricant that facilitates glacial motion. You don’t want to fall into one of these things.

Beautiful puddles.

Beautiful puddles.  Bitterly cold, but they bottom out on the surface of the glacier, unlike the bottomless moulins.

Heading back to Haines Junction, using the glacier as a path.

Heading back to Haines Junction, and following the glacier as a highway.

The plane landed at the Haines Junction airfield like a feather dropping to the ground.  Behind the pilot, one passenger was suffering from the effects of motion sickness (it was messy).   Even so, he was grinning along with the rest of us.  Definitely not too much awesomeness.  How could we go to Kluane National Park and not take a dip in the lake?

After our flight, we camped at Kathleen Lake Campground, a $10 bargain that mentally reduced the cost of the flightseeing tour.  The next morning, we took a dip in the lake, where average summer surface water temperature hovers around 52 degree F (11 C), just a few degrees less than what we are used to, but cold enough to render The Seal speechless.

Heading down the Haines Highway to pick up the ferry in Haines, Alaska, we passed by Dezadeash Lake. Although just a few miles south of Kathleen Lake, Dezadeash is a shallow bath tub known for its warmer temperatures (up to 65 degree F/18 C in summer) and many migratory birds, including Trumpeter swans.

Trumpeter swans on Dezadeash Lake.

Trumpeter swans on Dezadeash Lake.

Links and resources

Kluane Glacier Air Tours operates out of the Haines Junction Airport.

“The Strange History of Mount Kennedy,” by Sean Sullivan at The Clymb.

Our Climb Up Mount Kennedy,” by Robert Kennedy.  Reproductions of images and text from Robert Kennedy’s April 9, 1965 Life magazine account of his climb.

Below, news report Senator Robert Kennedy’s climb up Mount Kennedy.

A trip to Bennett Lake, British Columbia, then, and now

Now, the Chilkoot River was running high.  Although the trail is hard-packed and obvious, I wonder if today's hikers are confused by the arrows pointing in opposite directions.

Now, the Taiya River is running high. Although the trail is hard-packed and obvious here, I wonder if today’s hikers are confusedby the arrows pointing in opposite directions.

In 1986, when I arrived at Bennett Lake, my body was beat up, but my spirit was soaring.  After four days of backpacking on “the meanest 33 miles of history,” I’d conquered the  Chilkoot Trail to reach this legendary destination in British Columbia.  That afternoon, my companion and I set up camp amidst rusting tin cans on the shore of a wilderness lake that 30,000 Klondike gold stampeders called home during the winter of 1897.

I had planned my journey on the ferry north from Seattle, after reading about the trail in a guidebook. Back in 1897, thousands of eager fortune hunters had set out from Dyea, Alaska (a dozen miles from Skagway), and hauled themselves and  the required one ton of supplies up and over Chilkoot Pass to Bennett, where they overwintered, building boats and waiting for the ice to break up so they could float down the Yukon to Dawson City, and from there to the Klondike gold fields.

This National Park Service drawing gives a sense of that final tortuous push to Chilkoot Pass.

This National Park Service elevation drawing gives a sense of what the Klondikers were dealing with as they hauled 2,000 pounds of supplies across Chilkoot Pass..

I don’t remember all the logistics of my 1986 trip: how many pounds I carried, or how I’d made it from town to the trailhead, or the campsites where I slept. But I definitely remember the hard push up the “Golden Stairs” to Chilkoot Pass.

The pack weighed me down.  The trail was rocky and relentlessly steep.  Twisting lines of cable — the remnants of a tramway cargo transport service — spilled beside the trail, along with rotting leather boots and rusted tin cans. My companion, a German exchange student named Thomas, laughed at the idea that these items were historical relics — at that point, they weren’t even 100 years old, younger than my still-living great-grandmother.

In 1897, would-be miners either took the Chilkoot Trail from the mud flats of Dyea, or travelled from Skagway over White Pass, a longer route, but not as steep. The fact that the White Pass route seemed easier invited less preparation, more people, and more trouble.

Now, instead of the hike, The Seal and I opted to take the White Pass  & Yukon Railroad to Bennett Lake.  I considered doing the hike again, but realized it would be too much for an inexperienced backpacker to take on.

Now, instead of the hike, The Seal and I opted to take the White Pass & Yukon Railroad to Bennett Lake.

Miners attempted to pack gear by horses, and the animals died by the hundreds,  piling up in a stinking mess at Dead Horse Gulch.

Back in 1986, no one in Skagway mentioned the White Pass & Yukon Railroad, which opened in August 1900 and ceased operations in 1982.  By the time the railroad was completed, the gold rush had ended.  But the railroad filled a transportation need in this remote area (where no highway existed until 1978) and hauled freight and passengers from Skagway to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory until the late 1970s, when low mineral prices resulted in the collapse of the mining industry.  The Railroad began operating again in 1989 as a seasonal excursion train.

Then, in 1986, I remember being very anxious about brown bears, as the banks of the Taiya River were piled with bloated dead salmon. I didn’t encounter a bear, but woke up many times each night wondering if a bear lurked outside the tent.

Now, a brown bear browsing along the Skagway River (and viewed at a safe distance).

Now, a brown bear browsing along the Skagway River (viewed at a safe distance). The bear looks a bit like a horse, doesn’t it?

Then, I remember the glory of reaching the pass, and trudging through snow fields in high exposed alpine territory.  A friendly Canadian Mounty welcomed us near the border, but didn’t ask for my passport, which I wasn’t carrying, because who bothered with a passport when traveling to Canada? (My German friend, however, had to pull out his).

Now, the unmanned border near White Pass.  Customs did check our passports at Fraser, a border hamlet in British Columbia, Canada.

Now, the unmanned border near White Pass. Customs did check our passports at Fraser, a border hamlet in British Columbia, Canada.

Then, I remember feeling so happy to reach “Happy Camp,” several miles beyond the pass.  Immediately I understood why this high alpine camp had been so named by the men and women who had struggled over the pass.

Now, the alpine terrain covered by the White Pass and Yukon Railroad felt wide open.  Maybe not quite as remote, given the train tracks, but just as beautiful.  Flatter, I think, so I can see why the miners thought the route over White Pass was easier.

Now, the alpine terrain covered by the White Pass and Yukon Railroad feels high and wide open, although snow fields don’t linger here, as they do at Chilkoot Pass. White Pass isn’t quite as remote, given the train tracks, but just as beautiful.  Definitely not as steep, and flatter at the pass, so I can see why the miners preferred this route.

Then, I remember Bennett Lake, stretching pale blue through the valley.

Lake Bennett, B.C., now, looking the same as it did back in 1987. But not the same as 1897, when 30,000 would-be gold-seekers spent the winter here building boats to float down the Yukon to the Klondike gold fields, near Dawson.

Lake Bennett, B.C., now, looking the same as it did back in 1986. But not the same as 1897, when 30,000 would-be gold-seekers spent the winter here building boats to float down the Yukon to the Klondike gold fields, near Dawson.  Piles of snow fell and temperatures dropped way, way below zero.  People were definitely tougher back then.

This late 19th century stove looks like it could be resurrected if need arose.

This late 19th century stove looks like it could be resurrected if need arose.

Now, Bennett Lake remains isolated, remote, beautiful, and littered with Klondike trash. At the Depot, I said hello to some hikers coming off the trail.  They warned me that it wasn’t an easy trip and required months of training and preparation.  They looked wet, exhausted, and beat up.  I smiled, now, and remembered, then.

Resources

The Chilkoot Trail is managed jointly by the U.S. National Park Service and Parks Canada.  Permits are required during peak season.

The White Pass & Yukon Railroad offers daily excursions during the summer, but only offers the trip to Bennett Lake (traveling onward to Carcross, Yukon Territory) a couple of times a week.  The railroad provides shuttle service to hikers.

This Presbyterian Church at Bennett Lake is the only building that remains from the winter of 1897.  The depot building where we ate lunch was built later, for the railroad.

This Presbyterian Church at Bennett Lake is the only building that remains from the winter of 1897. The depot building where we ate lunch as part of our excursion was built later, for the railroad.

 

 

A slew of seals at LeConte Glacier

The blue icebergs bobbed and floated seductively, dangerous but enticing, clues that somewhere upstream lay a glacier.  But in Southeast Alaska, navigating a field of icebergs field is dangerous is any season, all the more so in November, with its short days and chilly temperatures.

Icebergs still cluster around the mouth of LeConte Bay as they did in 1879 when John Muir visited this region. When we visited, This one was especially striking.

Icebergs still cluster around the mouth of LeConte Bay as they did in 1879 when John Muir visited this region. Then, the glacier reached almost to the head of the bay.

But back in 1879, naturalist John Muir, being Muir, would not be dissuaded.  This was a man completing a canoe voyage of several hundred miles, in November, in Alaska. After several weeks of exploring southeast Alaska, Muir was  heading back to Fort Wrangell with Captain Toyatte, his Stickeen Indian guide, and several others.   As their party passed between a headland and the opening of Wrangell Narrows, the river of icebergs and floes floating out of the mountains intrigued Muir.  He wanted to follow the trail, to see the legendary Thunder Glacier for himself.

Captain Toyatte, knowing the hazards well, issued a strong protest. The icebergs might upset the canoe, tossing them and all their gear into the water. At worst, they would drown in the icy water; at best, they might make their way to a wilderness shore with no gear, food, matches, or way of transport.

But Muir, being Muir, kept pushing. “Oh, never fear, Toyatte,” he said. “You know we are always lucky–the weather is good. I only want to see the Thunder Glacier for a few minutes, and should the bergs be packed dangerously close, I promise to turn back and wait until next summer.”

Reluctantly, Toyatte paddled into icebergs.  The glacier, Muir said, was “one of the most imposing of the first-class glaciers I had as yet seen…..a fine triumphant close for our season’s ice work.”  

Because of the dense pack of bergs, Muir observed the glacier at a distance of two miles. We were lucky, and were able to come with a half-mile (or maybe even a bit closer)

Approaching LeConte Glacier.  We stayed a good distance from the glacier, as room-sized chunks of ice calving from the face create waves that can easily swamp a small boat.

Approaching LeConte Glacier. We stayed a good distance from the glacier, as room-sized chunks of ice calving from the face create waves that can easily swamp a small boat. LeConte is also known for “shooters,” icebergs that break off the face underwater and then shoot upwards.

As for John Muir, visiting LeConte Glacier, for us, was both an afterthought and a triumphant close to our stay in Wrangell, Alaska.  The bears at AnAn Bear Observatory had drawn us here, and we also planned to cruise up the Stikine River. Why not visit the  glacier while we were there?

Like Toyatte, I felt some trepidation, revolving around my credit card bill.  But when I would get to Wrangell again? We signed on.

I am so glad that we did.  LeConte Glacier, named in 1887  for Muir’s close friend, Joseph LeConte, a geologist at the University of California in Berkeley, was every bit as imposing as Muir described it. (The glacier was named by Navy Commander Charles. M. Thomas who conducted the first official surveys several years after Muir’s visit).

Although the glacier is a regular destination for small boats from Petersburg and Wrangell, LeConte is tucked away in a lesser-visited region of Southeast Alaska.  Thus, visitors can enjoy its splendors in relative solitude — we saw only one other boat (briefly) on the day we visited — and its huge population of seals, more than 2,000 of which live in the fjord.

The seals of LeConte Bay. More than 2,000 make the bay (which is more of fjord) their home.

The seals of LeConte Bay. More than 2,000 make the bay (which is more of fjord) their home.

For the non-glaciologist, glaciers are almost impossible to comprehend: LeConte stretches back 21 miles into the mountains and in places is a mile deep.   Although LeConte, the most southern tidewater glacier in southeast Alaska, has retreated 2.5 miles since 1887, it has both receded and moved forward in the past 30 years, and scientists regard it as stable (that is, it may recede one year but will move forward in another).

The tidewater is why the Tlingit Indians gave it the name, Hutli, which Muir translates as “Big Thunder.”  According to Muir, the derived from a mythical bird that produced sounds of thunder when it flapped its wings.  And LeConte Glacier makes big thunder, sometimes many times a day, when house-sized chunks of ice calve from its face and drop into the fjord, as in this video:

The glacier was magnificent, awe-inspiring and beautiful.  The seals were a very thick layer of icing on an already rich cake.  Amidst all the seals, my Seal was in heaven.

Our daylong trip to LeConte also included a stop in the fishing village of Petersburg. I’d been here once before on a dark 2 a.m. ferry stop, so I enjoyed strolling around in daylight.

Petersburg, Alaska, was established by Norwegian immigrants.  Many touches of Norway are evident. We stopped here for a couple of hours but easily could have enjoyed more time here.

Petersburg, Alaska, which had been the site of Tlingit summer fishing camp for centuries, was settled by Norwegian immigrants in the late 19th century. Many touches of Norway are evident. We stopped here for a couple of hours but easily could have enjoyed more time here.

Reading John Muir is not for the faint of heart, as his 19th century prose is dense and wandering.  Even so, I’ll dare to conclude with his 1879 conclusion on Alaska:

To the lover of pure wildness Alaska is one of the most wonderful countries in the world. No excursion that I know of may be made into any other American wilderness where so marvelous an abundance of noble, newborn scenery is so charmingly brought to view as on the trip through the Alexander Archipelago to Fort Wrangell and Sitka. Gazing from the deck of the steamer, one is borne smoothly over calm blue waters, through the midst of countless forest-clad islands… nearly all the whole long way is on inland waters that are about as waveless as rivers and lakes. So numerous are the islands that they seem to have been sown broadcast; long tapering vistas between the largest of them open in every direction.

Although I probably could use fewer words, I couldn’t have said it better myself.

(John Muir’s book, Travels in Alaska, is available in multiple formats at Gutenburg.org, and also readily available in print).

Wrangell and Petersburg Resources

Visitor info for Petersburg can be found at the Chamber of Commerce.

For more details on LeConte Glacier, see Pat Roppel’s 2013 article, Southeast history: LeConte Glacier, in Capital City Weekly (a Juneau newspaper).

From Wrangell, we visited LeConte Glacier in a jet boat with Brenda  Schwartz Yeager of Alaska Charters and Adventures.  There are several similar outfitters in Wrangell and Petersburg.

In Wrangell, the lumber industry ruled for many years, but today, fishing and tourism keep the town going.  Large cruise ships can’t visit Wrangell (a plus, in my opinion) although several smaller adventure-type cruises visited where we were in town.

We stayed in a roomy suite at the Wandering Channel Bed & Breakfast.  The Stikine Inn is a full-service hotel, with a good restaurant.  The Wrangell town website lists all lodging establishments.  You don’t need a car in Wrangell unless you want to explore more of the roads and trails of the Wrangell Island.  A daily Alaska Airlines flight provides service from Seattle or Juneau.

 

Bears, bears everywhere: AnAn Alaska adventure

From the platform, we could see the drama at the outhouse unfolding, predictably, almost comically, if not for the fact that the climax could be a dangerous human-bear encounter.

The older gentleman had scurried across the boardwalk to the outhouse, about 100 feet away from the viewing platform. Once he closed the door behind him, a large male black bear ambled out of the woods and approached the outhouse.  On the other side, a second bear climbed up the creek bank and began to shuffle towards the same location.

You too could be trapped in the outhouse at AnAn Bear Observatory -- but probably only for a few minutes.

You too could be trapped in the outhouse at AnAn Bear Observatory — but probably only for a few minutes.

Inside the outhouse, the occupant had no idea that he was surrounded on all sides by very large black bears.  If he looked out the peephole, he wouldn’t be able to see the bears.  People being people, he probably had half-listened to the ranger’s instructions to watch for the “all-clear” signal before exiting the outhouse.  That was the purpose of the peephole — to watch for the signal, not to spot bears.

Upon opening the door, he came face to face with Bear #2.  Quickly, he shut the down as the ranger began to shout. “Stay in the outhouse. DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR! Do not open the door until I give the ‘all clear’ sign.”

This time, he listened.  And waited for the bears to do their thing, that is, to amble along. They had no interest in the outhouse; to them, it was just part of the scenery, like the man and the rest of us on the platform.

At last, the ranger gave the “all-clear”.  The man rescued himself from the outhouse (used by 60 or so people each day).  Later, he smiled when we teased him about his adventure.

Just another ordinary extraordinary day at the AnAn Creek Bear Observatory in the Tongass National Forest, near Wrangell, in southeast Alaska.

Both black and brown (grizzly) bears have been coming for eons to AnAn Creek in July and August to eat spawning salmon.  For many years, this locale was known mostly to Wrangell locals as THE place to see bears. But about 20 years ago, when visitors started to heavily discover AnAn, the U.S. Forest Service began to actively manage the site to prevent human-bear problems.

During spawning season, a permit system limits visitors t0 60 per day.  A small boat is needed to get to the AnAn trailhead, so most visitors come with a guide.  At the trailhead, a ranger or guide leads visitors up the half-mile trail to the viewing “platform.”

“Platform” is just that: a platform, surrounded by a waist-high fence that bears could easily climb across or squeeze through if they were so inclined.  These are not tame bears, but hungry ones here to stuff themselves with as salmon. At times, bears come so close to the fence that a dumb person could reach out and touch them.  Rangers quickly move people — and their cameras — back from the fence if bears approach it.

On the magical morning that I spent with my son (The Seal) and friend Elizabeth at AnAn in August, we saw at least 15 different black bears doing their thing: killing and eating salmon, ambling to and from the forest, sniffing at the outhouse.

Each bear had its own preferences and ways of doing things. One liked to grab a salmon, take a couple of big bites, then dip into the creek for a fresh meal. Another would bring his catch up to a small knoll overlooking the creek and eat the entire fish while keeping eye on the world around him.  A third liked to eat his salmon in privacy, in a little nook made from big boulders on the side of the creek.

Especially memorable was the visit of a mama bear and her cub, as these photos illustrate.

Mama Bear and her cub ambled out of the woods and checked out the situation just below the platform, then decided to climb back up the bank.

Mama Bear and her cub ambled out of the woods and checked out the situation just below the platform, then decided to climb back up the bank.

Baby Bear became interested in a half-eaten salmon on the outhouse boardwalk, and lost track of its mother.  When he looked up from the fish and realized mother was gone, he began to look for a place to hide and found this tree limb behind the outhouse.

Baby Bear became interested in a half-eaten salmon on the outhouse boardwalk, and lost track of its mother. When he looked up from the fish and realized mother was gone, he began to look for a place to hide and found this downed tree behind the outhouse.

Mama Bear returned with lunch and couldn't find her cub.  She began to look around and eventually spied the cub in the forest.

Mama Bear returned with lunch and couldn’t find her cub. She began to look around and eventually spied the cub in the forest.

AnAn is the only bear viewing place in Alaska where visitors can see both brown and black bears feeding in the same location at the same time. However, when we visited, we “only” saw black bears.  The brown bears must have been off eating berries, or maybe were eating on a later shift.

Despite the fact that AnAn is teeming with bears in close proximity to people (including those trips to the outhouse), no humans have been attacked by a bear in the 20 years of Forest Service management, although at least one bear has been killed at AnAn when it charged a human.   I don’t know the details of the incident, but I suspect the charge had more to do with human stupidity (getting a good photo) than predatory bear behavior.

However, our guide, Brenda Yeager, carried both bear spray and a gun on the hike up to the platform, as did the ranger at the trailhead.

I’ve long had a love-hate relationship with bears.  Or maybe love-fear relationship is a better way to describe it.  I’m fascinated by bears and always hope to see one, safely, at a distance.

But I never sleep well in a tent if I know bears might be around.  I worked in Yellowstone during a summer when a bear pulled a hiker from her tent and ate her. A few years later,  I woke up in a tent in Alaska’s Brooks Range to the sound of something large brushing up against the tent.  And yes, it was a bear.  And yes, my heart pounded with fear and adrenaline, even though it was a black bear, not a grizzly.

That bear got into our group’s food supply (locked in an allegedly bear-proof barrel) and began to settle in for a long munch until we managed to drive it off with a couple of well-placed rocks targeted at its rump.  But we didn’t stick around either, packing up our tents at about 3 a.m. so that we could begin putting as much distance as possible  between us and the bear.

At AnAn, the opportunity to view bears up close in what felt like very safe circumstances was a magical, almost mythical opportunity.  I wouldn’t even have minded being trapped in the outhouse — as long as I didn’t have to sleep inside.

More bears:  Alaska really is teeming with bears, and they come out of the forest during salmon season.

On our first day in Alaska, in Juneau, the Seal and I headed out in the early evening to Mendenhall Glacier to take in the glacier after all the cruise-ship crowds had departed.  On our way out, we took a short stroll on the bear-viewing walkway around Steep Creek. Within minutes, (as seen in the video below) we had seen our first bear, killing and eating a salmon.

The bears grab all the headlines but the salmon are just as beautiful, here in the clear shallow waters of Steep Creek, Juneau.

Wrangell Resources

From Wrangell, we visited AnAn in a jet boat with Brenda  Yeager of Alaska Charters and Adventures.  There are several similar outfitters in Wrangell, all reputable. We chose to go with the Yeagers because they specialize in smaller groups.

AnAn probably isn’t the best destination for small children because they may get bored and hungry during the several hours most outfitters spend at the platform. No food is allowed on the trail or at the platform.

In Wrangell, the lumber industry ruled for many years, but today, fishing and tourism keep the town going.  Large cruise ships can’t visit Wrangell (a plus, in my opinion) although several smaller adventure-type cruises visited where we were in town.

We stayed in a roomy suite at the Wandering Channel Bed & Breakfast.  The Stikine Inn is a full-service hotel, with a good restaurant.  The Wrangell town website lists all lodging establishments.  You don’t need a car in Wrangell unless you want to explore more of the roads and trails of the Wrangell Island.  A daily Alaska Airlines flight provides service from Seattle or Juneau.

Goodbye, antibiotics, hello summer: travels with Lyme Disease

After the phone call, I realized that our pediatrician had an approach, a way of talking about a delicate subject that he had used many times before.

After ten years of near-perfect health, my daughter had become a high-maintenance patient, in and out of the office at least a dozen times in the past year, with many phone calls between visits.

A year earlier, I had found the tick in August. In September, the fever began, and then the horrible wracking cough.  Six weeks later, the fever escalated over several days, then finally broke. The intensity of the cough began to diminish. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

But a few weeks after the fever ended, the weird stuff began. Soon, I could predict, on a six-week cycle, the onset of mysterious ailments:  A staph infection on the toe, then on the index finger. An unrelenting headache. Weeping behind the ear. More finger infections. Blood work that suggested off-the-chart allergies, or a parasite, but no evidence of either.

By June, my daughter had missed a third of the school year. When she was feeling good, life went on as usual: Odyssey of the Mind, cross-country, hiking, travels. Every time an infection cleared, I thought we had turned the final corner.

Now, as another school year commenced, our concern centered on a throbbing pain in my daughter’s mouth that had begun with a cold sore, and then spread to her lower jaw. The gum was now recovered, pink and healthy. But the pain remained.  We paid $500 for an x-ray to see if an abscess was in the jaw. Nothing.

Then she woke up with another throbbing finger, leaking pus. As usual, I attacked with my full arsenal: hot water soaks, yarrow poultices, antibiotic ointment.  But the infection remained. We started Augmentin, which we had used several times before. The jaw continued to throb. Overnight, the finger turned hot red to the knuckle.  Cefdin was prescribed. After a couple of doses, the throbbing began to ebb in the finger — and in the jaw.

Then the phone rang.

“I’m very concerned about Jenny,” the pediatrician said.

Finally, at last, after all these months, the doctor was concerned enough to call.  A feeling of relief washed over me. Maybe now the medical professionals would ask more questions, would probe more to figure out what was going on.

“I’m concerned too,” I replied.

“I’m very concerned,” he repeated, and paused. “I think your daughter needs psychological help.”

The mismatch between his words and what I expected to hear was so great that I had to pause and decode, almost as if the doctor was speaking a foreign language I could barely understand.

I took a breath. “What I’ve learned,” I said, “is that when something is mysterious, the fallback diagnosis is psychological.”

After I hung up, I was shaking and trying not to cry, because I didn’t want to scare my daughter. I felt powerless. The doctor who I thought was going to help make my child well was washing his hands of us. Although I wanted an answer, a diagnosis, what I most needed was a sense that the doctor was our partner in solving this puzzle.

Fast-forward through another year.  Days and weeks of missed school.  More finger infections. Five weeks of stabbing abdominal pain, a short break, then months of unrelenting nausea. Many visits to the acupuncturist, the allergists, the gastroenterologists, and the naturopaths.  X-rays, an ultra-sounds, CT scan, and endoscopy. Every sort of rare condition ruled out.

“Is your daughter being bullied at school?” the family practice doctor asked.

All along, I had asked about Lyme Disease. When I pulled the tick off my daughter, it left an itchy red welt, but no bulls-eye rash. The Western Blot had come back negative. No joint pain, no Bell’s palsy. No, it couldn’t be Lyme Disease.

Finally, we met with a Lyme Disease specialist, a doctor who doesn’t operate in the box that constrains mainstream medicine in making this diagnosis. “I’ve seen these symptoms before,” he said after reviewing my daughter’s list of ailments. After more testing, he prescribed four to six months of antibiotics, and various supplements.

2400 grams a day of amoxicillin was daunting, but we took the leap. September began with another attack, pain in the ear, then the abdomen. But we weren’t frightened. We had a name for what was causing the pain. The antibiotics would kill off the bacteria that were digging in and causing problems.

In February, my daughter completed six months of antibiotics.  She had some bumps along the way, but has been free of all symptoms since then. I am not 100% certain that she had Lyme Disease. But I’m certain that she had an infection caused by that tick bite.

I had long worried about Lyme Disease. But when the doctor diagnosed my child with chronic Lyme, I wasn’t scared.   Now, we could focus on getting well.   The scariest moment in our travels with Lyme disease was the day that the pediatrician called.

Additional resources on Lyme Disease

Every year, researchers are discovering new strains of bacteria or viruses that cause disease and are carried by ticks.  Currently, the Centers for Disease Control lists 14 illnesses linked to tick-borne bacteria.

In 2013, the CDC modified its estimate of annual Lyme cases ten fold, from 30,000 to 300,000. Most Lyme specialists believe that the higher number is a low estimate.

ILADS, or the International Lyme and Associated Diseases Society, sponsors research, conferences, and the dissemination of information about Lyme Disease.  Lyme Disease has caused a major split in the field of infectious disease medicine and ILADS is an outgrowth of that split.

Snow babies, seals, and maniacal Arctic travelers: A visit to Eagle Island

Adventurer Josephine D Peary lived on Eagle Island for more than 50 summers.

Adventurer-author-mother-wife Josephine D. Peary lived on Casco Bay’s Eagle Island for more than 50 summers.  (Photo from Josephine Diebitsch Peary Collection, Maine Women Writers Collection, University of New England, Portland, Maine).

Even maniacal travelers need a respite once in a while, if only to plan their next adventures.  Eagle Island, in Maine’s Casco Bay, was such a haven for big adventurers Admiral Robert and Josephine Peary.

Admiral Peary, as many know, was credited with being the first person, along with Matthew Henson and other expedition members, to reach the North Pole on April 6, 1909.

Long before reaching the Pole, however, Peary set sail for Eagle Island, which he bought for $100 in 1877, just a few years after graduating from Bowdoin College. There, in the early 1900s, the Pearys built a two-room cottage that eventually evolved into a larger home (but not a mansion).  The family spent many summers on the island, which is now a State Historic Site.

In the 1890s, Admiral Peary often was in the news, celebrated (and sometimes maligned) as the great explorer. I do like his motto, “Find a way, or make one” (Inveniam viam aut faciam). But Josephine is my hero, living proof that female maniacal travelers are not a recent phenomenon but have always existed.

Josephine's 19ss memoir described her first year in Greenland, from June of 1891 to August of 1892, when she explored northern Greenland with her husband and his expedition.

Josephine’s 1893 memoir described her first year in Greenland (June, 1891 to August, 1892).

Three years into her marriage, Josephine bucked popular criticism to travel with her husband on his first trip to Greenland.  There, living in a cobbled-together house with Peary and five other men, Josephine threw herself into Arctic living:  She explored, trapped, hunted, cooked, tanned skins, and created outfits from fur and feature.  She also nursed her husband, who had shattered his leg en route to Greenland.  Later, Josephine chronicled her adventures in her first book, An Arctic Journal.

On her next stay in Greenland, in 1893, Josephine gave birth to her daughter Marie, soon-dubbed the “Snow Baby” by the Inuit locals and the international press. I have yet to find an account of Marie’s birth, but I  imagine that Josephine labored in that cobbled-together shack, probably with with no midwife nearby (although it’s likely that the expedition included a doctor with some basic obstetrical training).

Snow Baby Marie Peary.

Snow Baby Marie Peary (Library of Congress photo).

Of course, Inuit women had been having babies in the Arctic for centuries. However, childbirth remained a dangerous affair in 1893,  and even more terrifying when you didn’t know what to expect because you were living in an isolated foreign land.  For Josephine, however, it almost seems as if Marie’s birth was a blessed non-event, just something she did between prepping furs and cooking ptarmigan stew. She later wrote a book about Marie’s first years, The Snow Baby (1901).

All told, Josephine made a half-dozen trips to the Arctic, including one miserable winter spent, with young Marie, on board the Windward, a ship that had become bound in the ice (although not far from shore), in 1901.  There, Josephine met llakasingwah, Peary’s pregnant Inuit mistress.  Some sources report that Ilakasingwah also was living on board the ship (although that’s not certain).  Peary himself was 300 miles away, at a winter camp in Fort Conger.  It must have been an especially chilly winter for Josephine.

Back on Eagle Island, Josephine presided over what her son later called the island’s most “momentous event,” the September day in  1909 when the South Harpswell postmaster arrived with a telegram from Peary announcing that he had reached the Pole.  Soon a small group of reporters gathered on the island.  One reportedly said, “What do you have to say now, Mrs. Peary?”

In what I think of as true Josephine fashion, Mrs. Peary said to the group, “”I say come on boys, let’s have a drink.”

Admiral Peary, on his porch, looking out towards Harpswell Neck, a short boat ride away.

Admiral Peary, on his porch, looking out towards Harpswell Neck, a short boat ride away.

Eagle Island is located about 6 miles from Portland and about 1.5 miles from the end of Harpswell Neck. I visited with my Seal (my son), on Atlantic Seal Cruises, out of South Freeport harbor.  The island is a wonderful destination for a summer afternoon. For travelers like me who don’t own a boat, getting there requires some advance planning (see info below), but it’s a trip worth making.  The seals en route are a bonus.

First, the island offers incredible views, peaceful walking paths, and that sense of freedom I always feel  when visiting a Maine island. 

And then there is the Peary home, full of quirky Arctic artifacts and family memorabilia.  Narwhal tusks.  Various stuffed birds.  Photos of angora rabbits from the era when one family member tried to make a go of an island rabbit farm.

Peary designed his home to reflect the lines of a ship, with the library and front porch creating the illusion of a ship's prow/

Peary designed his home to reflect the lines of a ship, with the front porch creating an illusion of a ship’s pilot house. On the second floor of the house, from certain windows, the ocean seems so close that visitors almost feel as if they are on board a ship.

But what I like most about Eagle Island is  that Josephine lived there, spending more than 50 summers on the island, from 1904 until her death in 1955. (Admiral Peary died much earlier, in 1920, of pernicious anemia).  Ultimately, Eagle Island became more Josephine’s place than her husband’s.

On the island, Josephine read and wrote and rowed and entertained.  She picked berries with her grandchildren and taught them how to tie their shoes. During the winters, she lived quietly in a home on Baxter Boulevard in Portland. By the end of her life, she was known more as Grandma than as the intrepid young woman who dared to travel to the far North.

Visitors are encouraged to play Peary family's player piano, which is operated via a set of foot pedals.

Visitors to Eagle Island are encouraged to play Peary family’s player piano, operated via a set of foot pedals.

In 1955, just a few months before Josephine’s death at age 92, the National Geographic Society awarded her its highest honor, the Medal of Achievement.

I imagine it was gratifying, to finally be recognized.  On the other hand, I also imagine Josephine shrugging off the honor as “just a little medal.”  Nice to have, but not nearly so great as hiking across Greenland’s tundra, or sitting on the porch at Eagle Island, looking out at the blue expanse of Casco Bay.

Sources and Resources

The Friends of Eagle Island have established a website, Peary’s Eagle Island, that provides information about the Pearys and the Island, as well as details on how to get there.  Marie L Cruises out of the Dolphin Marina in South Harpswell also offers regularly scheduled excursions to the island.

Josephine’s books are available online (see links above) but also have been reissued in print.

Josephine’s papers and photographs can be found at the University of New England in The Maine Women Writer’s  Collection.

For additional information about Josephine, see Patricia Erikson’s articles, with several links gathered together in one place at her blog, Heritage in Maine.

HensonAfrican-American Matthew Henson wrote a memoir about his dash to the Pole with Peary, A Negro Explorer at the  North Pole (1912).  Many books have been written about Henson, but a revised version of his memoir recently published is Matthew A. Henson’s Historic Arctic Journey: The Classic Account of One of the World’s Greatest Black Explorers (2009).

Finally, I’m well aware that Peary’s claim to have reach the North Pole is disputed by many, although I didn’t get into the details above as my focus here is Josephine.  For more on the controversy, see John Tierney’s New York Times column,  “Who was first at the North Pole?”

If Eagle Island intrigues you, you might also check out the Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum on the campus of Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine.  See the Josephine D. Peary biography page for more info on Josephine.