Category Archives: Hiking

Posts about hiking in New England and beyond.

When the cold fails, try the warmth

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Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever

I am probably the only person in the United States who was disappointed by snowfall totals this winter.  Specifically in New Mexico, where we made plans for a sunny ski trip in February (see here for more) .  When we arrived, the snowfall total from January to mid-February at Taos Ski Valley was a skimpy (by mountain standards) 39 inches. By contrast, average annual snowfall at TSV is 305 inches.  So we did a quick turnaround in our minds, from ski trip to road trip.  Here’s a sampler of the fun.

1. Visit Taos Pueblo

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years. Now that's history!

Although in a constant state of rebuilding, the mud brick pueblo at Taos Pueblo has been inhabited for more than 1000 years.  The Pueblo is considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the U.S. Now that’s history!

Taos Pueblo, home of the Taos Pueblo people,  is one of the few UNESCO World Heritage historic/cultural sites that is also a living, breathing community, although the winter population drops in the Pueblo drops to about 100 people.  (Many more dwell in modern homes on the surrounding tribal land).

Although residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), the Pueblo has neither electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo.

Residents no longer enter and exit their homes through holes in the roofs (doors have been added), but the Pueblo lacks both electricity or running water. Water is hauled from the stream that runs through the Pueblo. Living here is not for the faint of heart.

 

The church in the Pueblo was built in xxx, after the Spanish-built church was destroyed in XX.

The San Geronimo Church in the Pueblo was built in 1850, after U.S. Army destroyed the Spanish church that dated to 1706.  The Spanish built the first San Geronimo in 1619, but this original church was destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt of 1680.

Although the Pueblo welcomes visitors and everyone we met was friendly and hospitable, the Pueblo people guard their heritage. Visitors are welcome at rituals and ceremonies, but absolutely no photos are allowed during these events.  Brochures and other materials remind visitors not to interrupt ceremonies with questions or comments.

Today the Pueblo is striving for a balance between cultural tourism and community preservation, but for most of their history, what the Pueblo people most wanted was to be left alone. Although not warriors by tradition, they were definitely willing to fight for the right to self-government.

The Pueblo people were conquered by the Spanish around 1615, but revolted twice, in 1640, and then again during the 1680 Pueblo Revolt that spread through all of New Mexico’s pueblo communities. They held off the Spanish for 16 years before being defeated in 1696.  Later, in the 1770s, repeated attacks on the pueblo by the Comanche led the Pueblo people to seek Spanish protection.  The Comanches also scared the hell out of the Spanish and prevented expansion of their empire, but Spanish soldiers were able to protect Taos, a small island of Spain in a vast land ruled by the Comanche.  Lots of history happening out here in the West while the American Revolution was heating up in Boston.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. The church was destroyed during xxx by the U.S. Army during the second Pueblo revolt.

The site of the 1706 San Geronimo Church. In 1847, the U.S. Army destroyed the church, where women, children and elderly had taken shelter, in retaliation for the murder of New Mexico territorial Governor Charles Bent. Bent was killed by a group of townspeople and Native Americans during an attempted revolt against the U.S. government, which had just taken control of New Mexico during the Mexican-American War.

2. Check out the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge formerly known as New Mexico’s Bridge-to-Nowhere

View of the Gorge from the bridge.

View of the Rio Grande Gorge from the bridge, 650 feet above the river.

Just a few miles outside of Taos, the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge spans a narrow canyon carved by the river.  When the three-span steel continuous-deck-truss structure was completed in 1965, the feds ran out of funds to build a road, so until the 1970s, when U.S. Route 64 was rerouted through Taos, the bridge was called the Bridge to Nowhere.

The bridge definitely goes somewhere today–Route 64 ends at the Four Corners of New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona and Utah–but we didn’t follow that road.  We did take in the amazing views and hiked for a mile or so on the West Rim Trail that hugs the gorge for nine miles (18 miles RT).  It was great to be out hiking in the scrubland in mild temperatures.

After our visit to the Gorge Bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge.

After our visit to the bridge, we traveled by car and foot to the bottom of the Gorge in search of hot springs.

3. Soak in natural hot springs

Not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but the hot springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

I’m not sure if I really want this photo of me in my bathing suit on the Internet, but Black Rock Hot Springs sure were nice. The springs are clothing-optional and most opt out, but teenagers and nude parents do not make a good match.

After our hike along the Gorge, we used a combination of local directions and iPhone GPS (never to be completely trusted in rural areas) to navigate our way on a rough dirt road to the John Dunn Bridge and the Black Rock Hot Springs.

Although not that far from the homes of Arroyo Hondo, the bottom of the Gorge felt very isolated and a little bit spooky.  I reminded myself that these hot springs are well-known to locals and likely to be populated by mellow bathers rather than Deliverance-style killers.

We did run into a few naked people, but they weren’t carrying spears, and were quite friendly and polite.  After they finished their soak (the pool was pretty full of people), we took our turn and enjoyed sitting in the 97 degree water while the Rio Grande flowed past us on its way to the Mexican-American border.  Eventually, a local mom and her four-year-old daughter joined us, thus quelling any lingering notions that a drug-addled maniac was about to burst forth from behind a rock.

Memories of Charles Manson mingled with those from the movie Easy Rider to fuel my paranoia.  The scene in which Dennis Hopper and Peter Hopper go skinny dipping with two girls from a hippie commune was filmed at nearby Stagecoach Springs Hot Springs (also called Manby Hot Springs).  Although nothing chilling occurs in that particular scene, the audience senses impending danger as the two men continue on their journey.  Fortunately, from our hot spring pool, we had a clear view of the trail to the parking spot and would at least spot the killers before they sprang upon us.

The commercial hot springs at Ojo Caliente also looked tempting and everyone recommended them, but we decided against more driving on a hot springs quest and opted for soaking in the hot tub at our rental.  Something to leave for the next visit.

4. Hike Devisadero Peak in the “off-season”

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico's highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

On the Deviserado Loop Trail (about five miles and fairly easy), we had great views of Wheeler Peak, New Mexico’s highest at 13,159 feet. If we had been better prepared for hiking, we probably could have completed the trek up to Wheeler. Typically the mountain would be drenched in snow at this time of year.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn't mind.

Relaxing at the summit in a grove of pinon and juniper trees. Someone built these Adirondack chairs from rocks. The chairs were a bit chilly, but we didn’t mind. Back in Maine, we call these temps “spring.”

“Devisadero” means “lookout point” or place. The Pueblo Indians once used the great views from the peak to stand guard against Apache raiders.

During the spring, summer, and fall, hikers and mountain bikers pack the trail, but only a few hardy hikers, bundled up in jackets, hats, and mittens, were out on the 40 degree-ish morning that we climbed the mountain. We had the 8,304-foot summit to ourselves.  It wasn’t really warm enough for shorts, but my son dons them whenever the temps top 40, hence his nickname, “The Seal.”

5. Find your way to Tent Rocks National Monument.

Some of the so-called "tent rocks." Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other formations.

Some of the so-called “tent rocks.” Millions of years ago, volcanic eruptions left a 1000-foot thick layer of pumice, ash and tuff deposits, which have gradually eroded to form these conical hoodoos and other intriguing formations.

On our last weekend in New Mexico, a late-arriving email tip sent me to the map to look for Tent Rocks National Monument.  I am soooo glad we found this surreal place, which had me looking for Hobbits and wondering if a dragon might slither around a corner.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons become raging streams.

Playing in the slot canyons of Tent Rocks. During a heavy rain, these canyons can become raging streams.

At Tent Rocks, we hiked along a sandy trail that led past hoodoos with rocks balanced on their points; slot canyons with walls that rose hundreds of feet; and an ancient cave where someone camped out hundreds of years ago.  Eventually we climbed to a high plateau for great views.

Tent Rocks is another “middle-of-nowhere” place, but only about 40 miles from Albuquerque, so it was quite busy with hikers of all stripes and ages when we visited.  Be sure to bring water on your trip (or fill up at the gas station/sub shop/store in the tiny town of Cochiti Lake), as no water is available at Tent Rocks.

 

Okay, my subtitle reads “five things to do,” but I need to highlight one more item for the list:  Relax.

Lounge around at the rental.  Watch sunsets.  Read books.  Surf on the internet and read more about the Southwest in Travels with The Blond Coyote, by New Mexico-based Mary Caperton Morton,who travels all over the United States living in a tiny TearDrop trailer.

Plan your next trip.  Forget the skis, remember the sunscreen.  Rinse, and repeat.

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I've learned!

Pueblo cat, outside one of the small gift shops. Internet cats get lots of love, I’ve learned!

Sources and resources

Directions to natural hot springs in the Taos vicinity.

Trail maps for Deviserado Peak

More info on Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument (Take note: no dogs allowed).

Missing my (Wild)Cat: Skittering on New Mexico’s ski slopes

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Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun.

Ready to skitter down the slope at Taos. Note blue skies, warm sun. In the background, 12,481-foot Kachina Peak.

Here in New England, skiers are familiar with what I call the “skitter” – the combination of a clattering sound and a slipping movement a skier experiences when she is cruising down a slope and suddenly encounters a patch of hard-packed snow-ice.  The best skiers hardly notice the ice and continue flying straight down the hill.  Others dig their edges into the ice and carve a turn.

But on the skitter, I choke.  I try to ski uphill.  Or I slide sideways across the icy patch, and then try to slip down the slope inch by inch, all while praying that the slope angle levels out a bit.  Sometimes I stop dead in the middle of the ice and try not to cry.

I’ve been working on the “lean in and carve” technique, but I was really looking forward to skitter-free skiing in Taos, New Mexico, the fabled land of fluffy white powder.  Although I once spent New Year’s  skitter-skiing in the Lake Tahoe region (where conditions are often similar to New England’s), I had never skied in “real” Western ski country: the powdery mountains of Utah, Colorado, or Taos.  Taos Ski Valley has a reputation as an expert’s mountain, but the trail map showed plenty of blue and green trails.  We could also visit other nearby areas, like Red River and Angel  Fire.

I also wanted sun.  With 300 days of sunshine per year, Taos was sure to deliver.

We left Boston’s Logan Airport just in time to get out of the way of a snowstorm heading to New England–a storm that eventually dropped 15 inches of powder in the White Mountains.  Although the snow had been falling here in the Seacoast all winter, the storms were mostly coastal events.  Throughout January,  the mountains up north were pretty bare, with lots of skitter potential.  But the weather pattern changed in February.  The snow kept coming and coming.

Meanwhile, out in New Mexico, the land was and is bone dry.  The state is having its worst drought since record keeping began.  The mountains had some snow early in the winter, but it has barely rained or snowed in New Mexico all winter.   The result: The. Worst. Ski. Conditions. Ever.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

I WAS ready to panic when I saw the double-black diamond trails in front of the main lodge.

The land surrounding Taos is rugged and beautiful, with mountains rising from scrubby plains.  But the conditions at Taos Ski Valley were abysmal.  Although the mountain does offer green and blue terrain, it definitely merits its reputation as a place for expert skiers. The experts like to hike up a steep ridge (after getting off a lift) so that they can  ski from 12,481-feet Kachina Peak down steep cliffs into a bowl full of soft powder.

This year, the bowl had only a thin lining of snow, but on our two visits to the mountain, plenty of hard-core skiers were hiking on the ridge to challenge themselves on the steep icy terrain.  Some even considered it fun.

I never intended to ski down from Kachina Peak, although my husband probably would have given it a go if the conditions were better.  But I was looking forward to cruising down blue trails under sunny skies.   We had the sun, but the blues were steeper than what I’m used to and very very icy.  Lots of skittering; one burst of crying and profanities.

The poor ski conditions couldn't take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven't seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The poor ski conditions couldn’t take anything away from the charm of the Taos avalanche rescue dogs. The dogs continue their training, but haven’t seen much action this year, which is probably a good thing.

The green trails mostly consisted of thin roadways linking various expert ledges and bowls, and were very very icy.  Although I felt confident negotiating these trails, the conditions were unnerving:  imagine sliding along ice on a flat narrow trail with steep double-black diamond drop-offs to one side.  As an intermediate skier, I felt like I had to be constantly vigilant, ready to dig in.  I couldn’t relax.  Oh well.  After the skiing, a hot tub awaited.

We stayed in a great little rental guesthouse in Arroyo Seco that once had been the three-car garage for actress Julia Roberts, before she sold the property to the current owners.   The views were wide and sweeping.  Just after dark, a million stars glowed in the sky.  Later at night, the moon rose and glowed above the mountains.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

I loved watching the moonrise at sunset from the porch of our cozy rental in Arroyo Seco.

We did lots of other things during our stay in Taos (See my next blog post, Five things to do instead of skiing during New Mexico’s worst drought ever).

People who live in Taos can’t imagine living anywhere else.  As our host explained, after living for years in wide-open country with views of the mountains, she feels claustrophobic when she returns to the tree-shrouded East.

I too love those open views, the way the moonlight lights up the wide sky.  But after more than a week in New Mexico, I missed my woods, the coziness of being surrounded by hundreds of tree.  I missed my mountains, where the lifts take me to the summits for 360-degree views, and blue and green trails lead me to the bottom.

During our stay in New Mexico, the snow continued falling back East.  In Pinkham Notch, at Wildcat Mountain, the Polecat top-to-bottom trail was soft with new snow.  Skiers were sliding easily through the Wild Kitten tunnel.  The weather was probably bitterly cold and gray, and the visibility near zero, but it would feel like home.  The snow would make me brave enough to try the black diamonds.  If I skittered on upper Lynx, I could deal, because I know where the steep pitch levels out.

Lesson learned: If I am going to skitter-ski, I want to skitter on home territory–not only do I know the lay of the land, but the skittering is cheaper and more convenient.

Fortunately it hasn’t snowed since our return. The temperatures remain low, and the snow has been  hard-packed into concrete ice by all those skiers who enjoyed the February storms. I can hardly wait to get to the mountains.

P.S. As I was fine-tuning this post, we had a mid-March storm that dumped two feet of snow in the White Mountains.  Talk about crushing my soul!  How am I going to practice my carve and turn in these conditions?

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren't really looking for her.

No snow, no worries, not with sunny skies, great views, and a warm picnic table for lounging. Julia Roberts, who formerly owned this property, now owns a house at the end of ditch. No sitings during our stay in Arroyo Seco, but we weren’t really looking for her.

Art amidst the mills of North Adams

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November December 2013 104

Fall leaves and outdoor swimming go great together!

A decaying mill town on a gray November weekend in an isolated corner of Massachusetts might seem an unlikely destination, but North Adams had been on my radar for a while.

The  Massachusetts Museum of Modern Art (Mass MoCA) offered intriguing, colorful and large-scale modern art likely to engage a 12-year-old non-artsy boy.  The Porches Inn provided a 24-hour outdoor heated pool and hot tub.  And Spruce Hill, just outside of town, is listed in Jeffrey Romano’s book, 100 Classic Hikes in New England.  Plus, right above town, we could experience the hair-pin turn on Route 2.  Why go to Disney World when North Adams awaits?

North Adams is a classic New England mill town, with acres and acres of massive red-brick empty mill buildings. Manufacturing in North Adams dates back to the Revolution, but now industry is all but dead, the final nail in the coffin coming with the 1985 closure of the Sprague Electric Company plant on Marshall Street (previously the home of the country’s largest textile print mill).  The Sprague plant was much more than a small-town components factory; it had state-of-the-art equipment and served as the company’s research and development center.  Employees included physicists and electrical engineers as well as line workers making electrical components.  At its peak in the 1960s, the company employed more than 4,000 workers.  The 1985 closure struck a massive blow to the community.

In the 19th century, sheep farmers in the hills around North Adams abandoned their fields for the relative comforts offered by row houses in the town.

In the 19th century, sheep farmers in the hills around North Adams abandoned their farms for jobs in the mills and the comforts offered by the row houses in town (on the Spruce Hill hike).

Soon after plant’s closure, town officials set their sights on reviving the town. In 1999, Mass MoCA opened at the sprawling Sprague complex to become the world’s largest contemporary art museum.  Although it’s unlikely that art will ever replace Sprague’s 4,000 jobs (plus the related jobs in other businesses), Mass MOCA has served as the cornerstone of the town’s revival, with other art galleries opening in its wake, along with restaurants, shops, and The Porches Inn.

Mass MoCA is fun – the perfect art outing for families with tweens or teens (and many were wandering around the place). Kids who might be bored with the portrait galleries of the Museum of Fine Arts will find much here to intrigue them.  The exhibits are constantly changing.

When we visited, Jason Middlebrook’s monumental hanging water fountain sculpture, Falling Water, packed a big “wow” factor. Mark Dion’s Octagon Room offered an intriguing bunker-like space to explore.  The colorful patterned paintings of Sol Lewitt (more or less on permanent exhibit) provide hope to non-artists that they too can create something beautiful, as Lewitt allows others to use his patterns to recreate his art.

The marble bridge, unique in North America, offers another sort of sculpture at Natural Bridge State Park, just outside of town.

The marble bridge, unique in North America, offers another sort of sculpture at Natural Bridge State Park, just outside of town.

European sculptor Joseph Beuys’s three-dimensional montage, Lightening with Stag in Its Glare, intends, per the catalog, to evoke “the spiritual power of animals and nature” while celebrating “the victory of socialist warmth and self-determination over materialist greed and alienation.”  For kids, however, the most interesting question is whether the irregularly shaped brown objects lying on the floor are lacquered turds or primordial worms (or perhaps both).

November December 2013 051

 

 

Just getting up to see Michael Oatman’s Airstream trailer repurposed as some kind of exotic aircraft (titled “The Shining”) is a unique museum adventure.  Visitors have to climb a few flights of stairs past old boilers and pipes to reach the outdoor platform where the trailer is perched.  The rusted pipes and equipment, which probably clanked and boiled well into the 1980s, now seem ancient.

A chilly November dawn in North Adams.

A chilly November dawn in North Adams.

Across the street from MASS MoCA, the Porches Inn is laid back and easy-going, with 24/7 access to the hot tub, sauna and pool. Visitors can order happy hour drinks at the small bar and sip them in the living room.  We decided to catch the sunrise each morning from the hot tub, although we kept forgetting to get up early enough due to the recent “fall back” switch to Eastern Standard Time.  Although we missed the official moment of the sun rising, we enjoyed sitting in the hot tub sipping fresh coffee and watching the pink sky.

The 3.5-mile loop hike up to Spruce Hill provided a good opportunity for leg-stretching and views of North Adams and Mount Greylock.  The loop trail through the forest took us along a massive beaver swamp, with many freshly chewed trees. The beavers remained hidden.

View from the summit of Spruce Hill, with Mount Greylock in the background.

View from the summit of Spruce Hill, with Mount Greylock in the background. The ledge was slippery, with a steep drop-off on one side. I lost my footing and fell hard on my behind, but at least I was on the right of the ledge!

In Mass MoCA, I took plenty of photos of the art, but I can’t publish those shots online. So when I was in North Adams, I tried to make my own art by shooting artsy photos. If you don’t know what they are, then I guess I have succeeded in creating modern abstractions (see below).

By the way, last year, on this same November weekend, we made our first-ever trip to Orlando to visit Harry Potter world at Universal Studios.  Jeremy rated that trip as a five-star adventure.  Our weekend in North Adams:  4.5 stars.  A pretty good rating, I’d say, for a place that exemplifies “November” in New England (i.e. gray, barren, and chilly).  Chamber of Commerce, take note:  with the right spin, marketing North Adams as the alternative destination for families weary of roller coasters just might work.

What kind of monster beavers can fell a tree this thick?

What kind of monster beavers can fell a tree this thick?

 

Stream in fall.

Stream in fall.

 

Modern art in the forest: the exposed veins of a tree.

Modern art in the forest: the exposed veins of a tree.

The wind howls, and we stir the pot

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As I write at the kitchen table, a pulled pork lunch for 17 simmers in the crockpot and the wind shrieks above the stove vents.  That wind has been howling for the past four days, hitting a peak gust of 121 mph on Sunday, when the temperature dropped to -25 and the wind chill was a crazy -76. And we summit volunteers are loving it!

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

Standing on the summit, with the Observatory Tower in the background. On the first couple of days, we saw many winter hikers at the summit, before the advent of the high winds that made hiking very unsafe.

The possibility of extreme weather is one of the main reasons why I signed on for the eight-day volunteer stint in January.  I knew that extreme weather meant we wouldn’t do any real hiking, but I was okay with that, as I’m rusty on my winter hiking skills. I had the warm layers I needed to safely push myself into 100 mph winds, plus a pair of sneakers for indoor laps around the rotunda to get some exercise in between short jaunts outdoors.

 

During my stay on the mountain, I’ve been reading about the winter of 1870-71, when State Geologist Charles Hitchcock and Assistant Geologist Joshua Huntington, along with three other men, and several visitors, spent the first winter on Mount Washington.

This scientific expedition set up shop in a small room carved out of the depot for the just-completed cog railway.  They spent the winter doing weather observations, using some of the same instruments that the observers use today.  They communicated to the outside world via daily telegraphs and were constantly heading out in extreme weather to repair the telegraph line.

Winter on Mount Washington

During their first full-on winter storm, some time in December, the group spent a frightening night huddled around the coal stove, as they listened to the roar of the wind and wondered if their quarters would hold fast.  The building, which was held down with chains, withstood the wind, and gave the group faith that they would weather future storms. Glass panes might shatter and they might have to stay up much of the night keeping the stoves going, but they could enjoy listening to howling winds rather than fearing them.

Hitchcock, Huntington and their companions each wrote different sections of Winter on Mount Washington, the 1871 book describing the expedition.  The prose is dense, written in the leisurely 19th century style that can be tedious for modern readers.  But what strikes me as I read about their days on the mountain is how little the winter experience has changed.  Although the men lacked today’s comforts, they were perfectly cozy in their small quarters. They got up early and piled on their gear to watch the sunrise.  They watched the clouds float up over Jefferson and Adams.  They marveled at the sunsets over the Franconia Ridge.

In Chapter 11, “Life on the Summit,” Joshua Huntington wrote,

“Most persons suppose that life on Mount Washington in winter must be gloomy, and gloomy enough it would be, at times, when the summit is enveloped in dense clouds for weeks, if it were not for the cheering click of the telegraph instrument.  They might suppose also that time would be extended indefinitely; that at night we should wish it was morning, and that in the morning we should long for night to come, and thus drag out a wear existence.  If the time of any persons in excellent health is wholly occupied in a pursuit that is congenial they are rarely gloomy, and are almost unconscious of the flight of time. But here, besides good health and time occupied, there is an excitement found nowhere else.”

“One gorgeous sunrise throwing a flood of light across a sea of clouds, one glorious sunset tingeing the clouds with crimson and gold, and the sun descends leaving the blush of day upon these snowy summits, or a storm unprecedented at lower elevations, infuse into our life enough that is grand and sublime to occupy the thoughts for weeks. With such surroundings, a person, on account of the intense excitement, may live too fast to have life extended to full three score years and ten; but there is a pleasure in it that would fully compensate for a few days cut off from the number to which life might be lengthened if passed in some quiet retreat, undisturbed by anything hat arouses the whole being, and carries the mind into ecstasies of delight. So days and weeks pass, and we are almost unconscious of the lapse of time.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

The Stage Building at sunset. This building, which serves as a depot for the Cog Railway, is a replica of the 1932 Observatory where the record wind was recorded. The current Observatory building opened in 1980.

My post here is reprint from my January 28, 2014 post on the MWOB “Observer Comments” blog.  Below, more photos from winter on Mount Washington.

Crisis on Mount Washington: The Empty Sugar Barrel

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During the server maintenance, the observers had to take down pencil-and-paper recordings of the wind speed at ten-minute intervals.(check)

During the server maintenance, the observers had to take down pencil-and-paper recordings of the wind speed. One person times for a two-minute period while signaling every five seconds. The other person manually records the wind speed from this Hays chart during that five-second interval.

Saturday was a crazy day for the weather observers, as the information technology observer took down the computer servers for some infrastructure maintenance. As with most IT endeavors, the process took much longer than anticipated.  Usually the weather instruments are constantly feeding data into the computers, but while the servers were down, the observers had to take their wind and other measurements the old-fashioned way, by jotting down data from the weather instruments with pencil and paper (for a more detailed explanation, see this comment by observer Michael Kyle).  For most of Saturday, no information on current weather conditions on Mount Washington was available to the general public, or the National Weather Service.

Pumpkin bread, coconut macaroons and chocolate chip cookies. But how long would they last?

Pumpkin bread, coconut macaroons and chocolate chip cookies. But how long would they last?

Down in the kitchen, we had our own crisis.  I was whipping up a double batch of chocolate chip cookie dough in anticipation of three day trips scheduled for Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.  Each trip would bring about 11 visitors to the mountain for a mid-morning snack and lunch.

After emptying the counter-top sugar canister into my measuring cup, I began to look around the pantry for more sugar. Surely, I could find more sugar.  We’re cooking on a frigid mountaintop.  On their 12-hour shifts, the weather observers go outdoors in all sorts of weather to bring in the precipitation can, chip ice from the tower instruments and work the old-fashioned “sling” that provides information on temperature and humidity.  Sweet breads and desserts, in small quantities, are almost an essential food for the soul and the mind, sugar be damned.

In the pantry, I checked all the Kitchenmaid food storage containers.  Hot cocoa, peanuts, rice, spaghetti, par-boiled rice, coconut flakes, unsweetened chocolate.  But no sugar. I checked the small sugar bowl by the coffee maker. Not a scrap.  There HAD to be sugar.  Back into the pantry. Then I spied the ten-gallon trash barrel flour bin. Did a similar sugar bin exist? I pushed aside the flour bin and there it was — the sugar bin!  Now I could complete the chocolate chip recipe as instructed.  I pulled the bin towards me and pulled off the lid.

When I opened the mega-gallon barrel of sugar, I found this scoop and a few sprinkles.

When I opened the mega-gallon barrel of sugar, I found this scoop and a few sprinkles.

The bin was empty.  Completely, totally barren.  Today was Saturday, and we had 3-1/2 more days on the mountain, with three groups arriving and a hungry crew of observers. Which crisis was more grave – the server issues, and the fact that the weather station couldn’t get its observations out to the world? Or a potentially bare dessert plate? You be the judge.

I was only short about a half-cup of the white sugar I needed, so I finished off my cookies with a little bit more brown sugar than called for in the recipe.  The cookies came out fine. I set aside some dough for the next day, when the group was coming up on the SnoCat. With this huge batch of cookie dough, plus our existing stash of sweets, I figured we would sail through the sugar crisis.  It might even pass unnoticed.

We were sure we would be eating this beef stew for days, but the day trip visitors polished off most of it at lunch.

We were sure we would be eating this beef stew for days, but the day trip visitors polished off most of it at lunch.

But on Sunday, our first day group of 11 people arrived.  We had made a huge crock pot of beef stew with a five-pound package of defrosted stew meat. By the time the group left, the stew was decimated. The pumpkin bread finished.  The macaroons had evaporated.  And three dozen chocolate chip cookies were gone with the wind (although I still had plenty of dough).

By then, we had another crisis on our hands: the eggs. Two-and-a-half  dozen came up with other fresh groceries for the Wednesday shift change.  Although the Observatory wasn’t hosting any overnight trips, we knew that those eggs could quickly disappear if the observers ate eggs for breakfast.  That would mean no eggs for baking, or for a meal like a quiche for vegetarian visitors (or for the observers).

We debated on whether or not to hide the eggs, and tucked the larger package behind some other food in the pantry fridge. Not exactly hidden, but not in plain sight either. At first, the eggs seemed safe, but then when the two IT observers came up for a couple of nights, the eggs started to rapidly disappear.  These were men who liked their eggs; they even found the ones we had concealed.

Suddenly, we went from 2-1/2 dozen eggs to only six.  We took charge and hid the eggs.  But we felt bad about depriving the egg-centric staffers. They were working on the servers non-stop while they were here, stopping only to grab a bite to eat or get some sleep. When they are hungry, they want to eat what they want to eat. The observers definitely appreciate the volunteers cooking their evening meal, but if we weren’t here, they’d get by just fine.  The volunteers, however, are essential for cooking for the day and overnight trips. We need to take stock of what’s available and plan the regular evening meal as well as the visitor lunches and snacks.  If push comes to shove, we can get by too.  We can make something other than quiche.  We can cut back on the baking.  But we know that the group as a whole likes the baking and the quiche.

Once a big hunk of meat is defrosted, we have to figure out how we can use it all within a couple of days. The frozen broccoli is actually pretty good.

Once a big hunk of meat is defrosted, we have to figure out how we can use it all within a couple of days. The frozen broccoli is actually pretty good.

Fortunately, no one needed to fight over the English muffins.  Or the pork tenderloins (at least a half-dozen in the freezer).  Apples and bananas were dwindling fast, but even with the blueberry pie, we hadn’t made a dent in the frozen blueberries.  No blood would be shed over frozen broccoli, although we consumed several 32 ounce packages (it was pretty good).  And there was no need to hoard the piles of frozen green beans, peas, and asparagus, or the potatoes and onions. Just the eggs.

In addition to the items already mentioned, here is a sample of our menus thus far:

  • Turkey tetrazzini, made with a huge hunk of leftover turkey breast cooked by the previous volunteers;
  • Beans and rice with sausage, corn and peppers;
  • Pulled pork (which I made for the first time ever with this recipe I found online, and it came out great);
  • Spaghetti with meat sauce, made from part of a five-pound tube of defrosted ground beef;
  • Hamburgers melted from the same tube of beef;
  • Lentil soup;
  • Tofu with veggies and rice.

Today we are making tuna melts for the visitor lunch. For tonight’s meal, chicken breasts are defrosting in the freezer for a low-fat version of chicken broccoli alfredo. Before going to bed, I’ll put pork tenderloin in the crock pot to make a pulled pork lunch for tomorrow’s visitors.

The servers are up and running again. The weather instruments are feeding their data into the computer.  The world is getting the information it needs out of the Mount Washington weather station.  The IT guys have left. The eggs are safe.

Cat vs. Camel: An epic battle on Mount Washington provides an opportunity to write about Marty

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Marty on his Mount Washington throne (photo by Brian Clark, a former MWOB observer).

Marty on his Mount Washington throne (photo by Brian Clark, a former MWOB observer).

Marty, the Mount Washington summit cat, has been an elusive animal this week, slipping in and out of the Observatory staff quarters only to eat and use the litter box.  Apparently he has a friend who stays in the State Park employee quarters, and that person is working this week, so Marty is spending much of his time next door, playing with a new toy, or maybe hiding from new summit volunteers.

I did manage to snap his photo after he one of the weather observers captured him yesterday for a brief appearance in an educational videoconference with a group of pre-school children.

Marty, the observers tell me, is extremely territorial, and defends his mountaintop kingdom against all other animals, especially dogs, who tend to slink away when confronted with his stare down and hiss.  He even beat up a camel, back in 2009, when Josh the camel walked up the eight miles up the Auto Road with his handlers to stake a claim on being the first camel to climb Mount Washington.  Marty didn’t hurt the camel, but in the showdown between the two, the camel backed off when confronted with Marty’s hiss and arched back.

As the camel settles in for a rest, Marty strides over to show it which mammal rules the mountain. (MWOB photo by Cara Rudio, July 8, 2009).

As the camel settles in for a rest, Marty strides over to show it which mammal rules the mountain. (MWOB photo by Cara Rudio, July 8, 2009).

Marty is the latest in a series of legendary summit cats at the Mount Washington Weather Observatory, going back to 1932, when the staff first brought in a stray cat to control the mice population.  Marty, a Maine Coon, came to the mountain in 2008, from the North Conway Humane Society, after winning the first-ever Mount Washington Mascot Primary.

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Marty racing past the precipitation can, which is used to measure the hourly precipitation on the mountain (Brian Clark photo).

Winter is tough on Marty. His playground is reduced from anywhere he wants to explore to the building that houses the Observatory and the State Park facilities. For an indoor cat,  this space is cavernous, with endless nooks and crannies to explore. For a mountain cat used to living free, the space, I imagine, feels cramped and claustrophobic.  Marty gets anxious and irritates his fur and skin with excessive licking, so now, in the winter, he takes a mild steroid a few times a week to calm his cabin fever.

A great shot, also by Brian Clark, of Marty jumping upon a rail.

A great shot, by weather observer Steve Welsh, of Marty jumping upon a rail.

Former weather observer Brian Clark had a reputation of being the “cat whisperer” and took many wonderful photos of Marty during his time on the mountain; to see more of them, review his Accuweather blog entries, “All About Marty the Cat,” and “My Favorite Pictures Part 4 Summit Cats“.

Marty looks out over Wildcat Mountain.

Marty takes in the view of the Presidential Range (Brian Clark photo).

I hope to get a few more photos of my own of Marty, but I’m a realist. I’m just another one of the legions of Marty fans on the mountain and around the globe (see the MWOB Facebook page, and the number of “likes” any shot of Marty garners). Maine Coons are usually people lovers, but Marty doesn’t cozy up to just anyone.  This cat encounters a constantly changing set of visitors, both in his quarters and outdoors. Although the weather observers are a stable presence, they come and go in their one-week shifts, making it hard for a cat to bond with a best friend. But as I  have been writing this entry, Marty has come out of hiding. After some slinking around, he cautiously hopped onto the couch where I am sitting. Now he is dozing on the cushion next to me, about a foot away. This is day three on the summit; maybe, just maybe, by the week’s end, Marty will call me a friend.

P.S. Later that night, while I was sitting on the couch and watching a movie, Marty settled in a step closer.  I think I even heard him purring.

 

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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This snow cat, Inga, lives at the Observatory. The summit cats mostly stay indoors during the winter.

This snow cat, Inga, once lived at the Observatory (Inga had a good run, but is no longer alive). The summit cats mostly stay indoors during the winter (MWOB photo).

Spending a week in January on a mountain billed as having the world’s worst weather isn’t everyone’s idea of a good time.  But, I say, why go to an all-inclusive resort in Cancun with everyone else in the world when I can have an all-inclusive experience at the Mount Washington Observatory for the cost of a warm hat and a new pair of heavy-duty mittens?

I’ll be leaving Kittery well before sunrise next Wednesday to catch an 8 a.m. Snow Cat ride up the Auto Road, a six-mile trip that can take up to four hours in the winter.  My all-inclusive deal includes work as a volunteer cook (along with a friend) for the Observatory crew and others who might be at the summit (sometimes up to 20 people in very close quarters). Drinks are strictly BYOB. If the stream of visitors (EduTrip guests, state park construction workers, and others) is non-stop, my friend and I could be working 18-hour shifts with only mini-breaks, but the schedule thus far suggests that we will have plenty of free time to enjoy winter views from the Rock Pile.

Nin, another legendary Mount Washington cat, pictured here enjoying a rare blue-sky afternoon. (Nin is also among the departed).

Nin, another legendary Mount Washington cat, pictured here enjoying a rare blue-sky afternoon. (Nin is also among the departed).

Of course, I hope to do some hiking around on the 6,288-foot summit during my week-long stay  But whether or not we get outdoors for more than a few minutes at a time depends on the weather. Winter brings bitterly cold temperatures to the mountain, but wind is the main factor in determining how often and how long we can stay outside.

Mount Washington, according to the Observatory, holds the record for the highest surface wind speed ever recorded by a person, at 231 mph, in a wild storm in April 1934.  Most mountain weather watchers, however, know that a higher speed of 253 mph was recorded  in April 1996 when Tropical Cyclone Olivia passed through Barrow Island, Australia.  A 2010 review by the World Meteorological Organization confirmed the Olivia wind speed as the world record, but the Observatory bases its claim on the fact that a human actually recorded the measurement during the wind event.

Today the temperature at the mountain is 12 degrees, with winds of about 12 mph and freezing fog (i.e. zero visibility). So far this month, temperatures at 6,288-foot mountain have ranged from -24 degrees F, with hurricane force wind gusts, to a record high of 40 F.  Hiking above treelike, I’ve encountered wind gusts of “only” 45-50 mph and those gusts will keep me standing even if I lean hard into the wind.  “Hurricane force” will be a new experience.

These photos from a March 1953 issue of Life magazine offer a good preview of what I can expect; my photos will be in color, but otherwise probably much the same.

Although I expect to be safe and snug in and near the Observatory, Backpacker magazine has billed Mount Washington as one of “America’s 10 Most Dangerous Hikes.” The mountain also regularly shows up on lists of the 10 most dangerous mountains in the world.  More than 130 people have died on the Mountain (although this list includes deaths on the mountain from natural causes and suicide).

Part of the danger stems from the fact that thousands of people climb the mountain each year, and many are not fully prepared for rapidly changing weather conditions that can occur on the mountain’s upper slopes. But while inexperience and ill-preparation contributes to the mountain’s foreboding reputation, the conditions on the mountain itself account for much of the danger: whiteouts and fog create scenarios in which a single misstep can send hikers hurtling over the edge of deep ravines or into crevasses, especially in Tuckerman’s Ravine.

Tuckerman's Ravine in the spring (M. Sheppard photo, Wikipedia Commons).

Tuckerman’s Ravine in the spring (M. Sheppard photo, Wikipedia Commons).

In the spring, hundreds of skiers make the trek up to the lip of Tuckerman’s Ravine, then strap on their skis and push themselves over The Headwall to ski down the steep slope into the bowl.  Watching these skiers drop over the ravine’s edge, it seems impossible that they won’t be killed, especially if one of them falls. Over the years, several have died from falls. In 1994, a skier was killed after completing her run when an ice boulder bounced into the bowl and struck her.  Several hikers also have died in falls or avalanches while hiking in or just above the ravine.  2012 was an especially bad year when on three different occasions, hikers  — all experienced and well-prepared — slipped on the edge of the Ravine and fell to their deaths. Just recently, two winter hikers above Tuckerman’s Ravine triggered an avalanche and slid 800 feet with the snow. Both were very lucky to survive with minor injuries. As winter hiking has become more popular, every winter brings reports of hikers slipping, falling or getting lost in the massive folds of the mountain.

I’ve double-checked the gear list: new mittens, borrowed micro-spikes and plenty of microlayers.  Thank goodness I still have my 1990s Michelin Man down jacket, completely unflattering, but it will keep me warm. I don’t own an apron, so will throw in an extra t-shirt to wear while cooking. I’ll pack sneakers, as my best shot at exercise may be walking laps inside the closed state park building.

Bitterly cold temperatures and hurricane force winds. Cabin fever.  The possibility of non-stop cooking in a tiny kitchen. The potential for a week of nothing but a constant view of gray fog from the observatory window.  Why go at all?

I can’t fully explain the pull of winter on top of Mount Washington.  It’s my way of experiencing Antarctica, I suppose, of pushing the boundaries of my life, but in my own way. I will never ski down Tuckerman’s Ravine.  I lack the expert skiing skills to make it safely down the ravine. Even if I possessed those skills, the thought of going over that headwall rim is way way too scary.

But I know I can size up a pantry and create some good meals with whatever I find.  I can bundle up and stay warm — at least for  a while — on a minus-30 degree day.  I can conquer cabin fever with books and writing and a few episodes of Lost.

So, Mount Washington — bring on your worst, or your best, or, ideally, a mixture of both.  I’ll be ready.

Sources and resources

I will try to post daily updates while on the mountain, provided the internet isn’t all clogged up.  In the meantime, enjoy this Mount Washington time-lapse photography video, by Weather Observer Mike Dorfman.

And if you are interested in experiencing the world’s worst weather — and dealing with the highs of crystal clear perfect days and the cabin fever of days on end when you can’t even leave the cramped quarters of the observatory — consider dusting off your cookbooks and becoming a member of the MWOB .

For additional information on those who have died on the mountain, see MWOB’s article, Surviving Mount Washington.

For more photos of Nin and Inga, see the MWOB Creatures of Comfort Photo Gallery.

For a gripping account of the dangers on Mount Washington, I highly recommend Nicholas Howe’s 1999 book, Not Without Peril.

The Mount Washington Avalanche Center provides daily updates on changing snow conditions on the mountain.

Friends of Tuckerman’s Ravine offers many great photos, history and other information about this beautiful place on Mount Washington.

Three blogs for hitting the trails

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The Arctic Vortex last week offered a good opportunity to hunker down and work on one of my New Year’s projects, which is to improve this blog. To that end, I am participating in the Word Press “Zero to Hero” challenge of daily “here’s how to enhance your blog” lessons. Today’s lesson included commenting on three blogs (done) and then taking the exercise a step further by writing about three blogs. Hence, I present a trio of hiking blogs: Girls on the Way, 1 Happy Hiker, and Live Free and Hike: A NH Day Hiker’s Blog.  All three include links to other good hiking blogs, but I always tell my students that three examples are enough for illustrating a point or idea, and I’ll stick with that advice here.

Girls on the Way is the blog of Patricia Ellis Herr and her two daughters, Alex and Sage.  Trish Ellis Herr first started writing the blog when Alex was five, and Alex decided that she UP A Mother and Daughter's Peakbagging Adventurewanted to hike all of New Hampshire’s 48 four-thousand footers.   These efforts eventually became a neat little book titled Up: A Mother and Daughter’s Peak-Bagging Adventures. I loved the book, both for the descriptions of approximately 15 hikes and for the way the author took each chapter and turned it into a lesson, e.g. “Some Things Will Always Be Beyond Your Control”.

I don’t want to give away too much, but I will say that while reading the book, the chapter titled “Mistakes Can Have Serious Consequences” took me back to 1982 when, as a college sophomore, I followed the news about two teenagers who had lost their way while doing a winter climb of Mount Washington.  They encountered whiteout conditions on the way down and lost their way. Both survived, but one boy lost both of his legs. Another young man on the Search and Rescue team was killed in an avalanche during the search. Today that teenager who survived a terrible ordeal is Trish’s husband and a world-renowned scientist.  It was eerie to read about him telling his story to daughter  as a cautionary tale–and to recollect my vague memories of the event, and of fellow students who had undertaken similar adventures but had better luck.

Some readers may wonder if Ellis-Herr pushes her daughter to do these hikes, a point she addresses in the book.  As she observes, a parent can’t force a kid who doesn’t want to hike do the arduous hikes that Alex undertakes; doing so is just about impossible (unless you are willing to carry said child up the mountain).  Children have boundless energy and the question of physical stamina isn’t a problem for most; instead, kids often lack the mental stamina needed for lengthy hikes. Alex definitely had (and has) that mental stamina, and her sister Sage follows in her footsteps.  (For the record, even though my son is a good hiker, I would never attempt to conquer the 48 4,000 footers with him unless a helicopter or water slide was involved).  Maybe someday my son will surprise me and announce that he wants to conquer the 48 summits, but until then, I will hike most 4,000 footers on my own.

Since the publication of Up, Trish and her daughters have had many other adventures, including several months in Spain hiking  the 500-mile El Camino de Santiago long-distance pilgrimage.  This summer, they hope to hike the John Muir Trail, and I hope they get to go, because hiking the JMT is also on my hiking bucket list.

Another hiking blog I like is 1 HappyHiker.  The Happy Hiker’s blog is very simple in appearance and he doesn’t share much information about himself, but he is a good writer and has archived many posts about adventures in New England and beyond (not to mention that his blog has a great title, a little corny, but who isn’t  happy when standing on a mountaintop?).  Lots of solid well-researched information and ideas for hikes in the region.    This blog often comes up on Google searches related to hiking in New Hampshire.

Finally, I’ll give a short shout-out to Live Free and Hike: A NH Day Hiker’s Blog  by Seacoast resident Karl Searle, who writes about hiking and outdoor adventures, including many that are family-oriented.   The blog has a great title and good content about adventures within striking distance of the Seacoast region.

Readers, if you have any ideas for a revised blog title, please send them my way!  “Random History and Offbeat Trivia” is okay, and reflects the fact that sometimes you just need to put the fingers on the keyboard and start typing. But I am trying to devise a title that more effectively captures the essence of this multi-faceted blog: hiking, adventures, travel, history.

Time travelling, sea to summit, in the woods of York, Maine

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One of my favorite “backyard” walks is the “sea-to-summit” hike from Highland Farm in York to the summit of Mount Agamenticus.  The walk doesn’t actually start at the beach, but at the York Land Trust Highland Farm property, located on a hill overlooking the saltwater marshes of the York River. From Highland Farm, a series of interconnected trails on various parcels of land lead to the summit of Mount A, the highest peak on the coast south of Camden.

On this cloudy but warm fall day, we had lunch on the cliffs above Folly Pond, deep in the woods of York.

On this cloudy but warm fall day, we had lunch on the cliffs above Folly Pond, deep in the woods of York.

This hike through the forest is full of intriguing natural features as well as the ghosts of those who once farmed this land: Bluebirds and blue herons; old cemeteries deep in the woods and granite-walled cellar holes where families lived and died; a scenic overview above an isolated pond; erratic boulders and steep cliffs carved by glaciers; and finally, at the Mount A summit, a view of the sea to the east and Mount Washington (on a clear day) to the west. Not bad for a hike just that begins just a few minutes from my house.

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Old foundations, cellar holes and other remnants of the past in the woods of York.

This fall, on Columbus Day weekend, I completed the “Sea-to-Summit” walk once again with a small group of friends and two active kids.  The distance from Highland Farms to the summit of Mt. A is about five miles, including a small portion on Mountain Road. Hard-core hikers can easily hike to the mountain summit and back, but most people probably will want to spot cars. If you can’t spot cars, just exploring these trails half-way is a great morning or afternoon walk.

When we dropped one car at Mount A at noon, the summit was busy with hikers and families enjoying the foliage and views of the Atlantic Ocean.  But later, deep in the woods, we didn’t see another hiker on the four-mile hike in the woods from Highland Farm to Mountain Road. (We did run into a York police officer patrolling on an ATV, the same guy we had seen the year before, in almost the exact spot, time and day).  The area is great mountain biking terrain, but the trails are not as “discovered” as the trails in the immediate vicinity of Mount A. Mostly, these woods are unpeopled.  While I love my visits to Yellowstone or Acadia National Parks, every time I walk through this forest, I am reminded that beautiful and often more peaceful destinations await discovery in my own neighborhood.

We began the walk at Highland Farm (a farm for generations, until it became a nine-hole course that went bust), with the two boys sprinting ahead to look at the graves in the first of three Junkins family cemeteries on this route, two on the Highland Farm property and a third deep in the woods on land owned by the Kittery and York Water Districts.

The Junkins family first came to York in 1661, when Robert Junkins settled in the part of York known as Scotland, where he built a garrison house overlooking the York River (on what is now Cider Hill Road, I believe).  Junkins was a Scotsman who had fought against Cromwell’s army during the English Civil War.  He was taken prisoner in 1650 and, with 150 others, sold into indentured servitude on a ship headed for Boston.  Junkins was purchased by Valentine Hill of Durham, New Hampshire, and worked for him until the completing the term of his indenture, when he moved to York. (Valentine Hill’s home in Durham is now the Three Chimneys Inn).

The Junkinses multiplied mightily and many still live in the area. They have an entire website devoted to their geneaology and history, the Junkins Family Association, including a more comprehensive (and fascinating) account of how Robert landed in York.  Two of his sons died in an Indian attack in 1714 and the family cradle that rocked these two sons and many other children that followed now sits inside the Old Gaol Museum in York.  I don’t know if Robert walked these lands, exactly, but his descendants did, and I love walking on this trail that shows such visible artifacts of the human past: the gravestones, the stone walls, the foundations and covered wells.

I'm glad to know that someone take care of these graves in the woods. David Junkins was just a babe during the Revolution, but perhaps a veteran from the War of 1812.

I’m glad to know that someone take care of these graves in the woods. David Junkins was just a babe during the Revolution, but perhaps a veteran from the War of 1812.

Jeremy and his friend soon located the oldest grave is the first cemetery, a small well-maintained patch of land surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. Then they dashed off down the Barred Owl trail, where we found the second Jenkins cemetery up on a little knoll.  One small stone marked the grave of a small child.  “What do these initials mean?” Jeremy asked as he pointed towards an even smaller stone.  I explained that the stone was probably the footstone for the headstone, which memorialized a baby’s short life.

We walked on, intersecting with the Kingsbury Trail, which we followed down a small hill to causeway/dam on the swampy edge of Boulter Pond, where an osprey soared above us.  Shortly after entering the forest again, we picked up the “White Trail” (on Water District land) Water District land.   Soon we were deep in the woods, with steep cliffs and piles of rocks looming above us on the eastern side of the trail.

Further on, we spotted a cellar hole, just off the trail, that opens the door to the human past. Who lived here? What did this branch of the Junkins family do to keep body and soul together? When was this home abandoned, or moved to another location?

Within the granite-slab cellar-hole is a small dark chamber constructed from other stones. Was this a root cellar?  A special pen for sheep or other animals?  I wanted to know, but in a way, not knowing makes the structure more intriguing.

A few minutes later, we came upon another cellar-hole, lined with large slabs of cut granite. A couple of hundred yards off the trail, (to the left) is another cemetery, the family cemetery of the particular band of Junkins who farmed this parcel and probably raised sheep.

Sheep were big in New England in the first part of the 19th century and far more profitable than cash crop  farming in the stone-filled soil common to this area. But as the sheep industry in the West expanded, the industry began to decline in Maine, and so did the farms.  This abandoned home that seems so remote once was part of a small community, one that was isolated from the village of York, but existed as a complete small world of Junkinses.

That black lump on the side of the tree trunk is the porcupine inching his way up the trunk.

That black lump on the side of the tree trunk is the porcupine inching his way up the trunk.

“Look, there’s a porcupine,” my friend called out.

The boys immediately dashed up the main trail towards a tree, where a porcupine was inching its way up the trunk.  After reaching an overhanging branch, the animal settled, sloth-like, above our heads.

Although I wanted to show the boys the third Junkins cemetery, we needed to continue on, due to the press of time and daylight.

When the White Trail intersected with the “Yellow Trail”, we took the turn (on “yellow”) towards Mount A, 2.4 miles away.  A few minutes later, I recognized the side trail up to the rise that overlooks Folly Pond.  We climbed uphill, then settled on some smooth stones carpeted with pine needles  to enjoy a picnic lunch and the view of the pond through the pine trees. Steep cliffs drop down to the pond, but the boys were busy on another rock, discussing Minecraft, so I enjoyed my lunch without the hovering possibility of a boy falling overboard.

After lunch, we continued onward, crossing streams, and passing by the berm at the lower end of Folly Pond.Eventually we emerged from the woods onto Mountain Road, where hikers can either turn left and then take a path into the woods to connect with a trail that parallels the road, or turn left along the road. We chose the road and walked on pavement to the base of the mountain, then headed up the mountain towards the Ring Trail.

View of the cliffs and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

View of the cliffs and pine trees that greets hikers as they emerge from the Witch Hazel Trail onto the summit of Mount A.

Mount Agamenticus offers many routes to its summit (the most direct being the road). The most direct route, from the parking area at the base of the access road, is the Ring Trail to the Witch Hazel Trail.  After 20 minutes of steady uphill hiking, we again emerged from the woods, to a view of a granite cliff topped with a row of pines.  Nearby, the viewing platform offers a view of Mount Washington, but not on this day, as the clouds had rolled in.

We made it, Sea-to-Summit, a great five-mile hike.

We made it, Sea-to-Summit, a great five-mile hike.

We drove a circuitous route — probably 8 or 10 miles — back to our car at Highland Farm. Within a few minutes, we arrived at the parking lot from whence we departed three hours earlier.  In taking the more direct route to the mountain, through the woods, we had become time travellers of a sort. We had visited the past and walked at the same speed the with which the Junkins children once had travelled to school.  It felt strange to return so quickly in our cars at the Farm.  Maybe this “small adventure” wasn’t so small after all.

Notes and Resources.

The Highland Farm property, (see map at this link) owned by the York Land Trust, offers a neat walk all by itself, through fields and woods and along rocky cliffs.  One spring day a couple of years ago, while walking up on the highest part of the land, I was surrounded by an angry bunch of turkey vultures, probably because I was near  nesting site. Watch out for ticks.

Hikers often get lost in the woods surrounding Mount Agamenticus.  Although trail signage has improved over the years, both at Mount A and on the Water Districts’ properties, hikers who are not very familiar with the area should bring a map to avoid trudging many unintended miles. The York and Kittery Water Districts offer a combined map of their properties here.  A map of Mount Agamenticus is here.  Pets must be leashed on these lands.  Hunting is permitted on Water District lands; hikers should wear bright orange during fall hunting season, or better yet, hike on Sundays, when hunting is not permitted.

The York Land Trust offers a history-based hike of this area every so often, which I hope to attend one day, for this walk holds many layers of history beneath its trails.

For more family hikes, see my post, Round up: Five great family hikes in Maine.

Living large on the lava fields at the Fimmvörðuháls Pass, Iceland

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I'm glad it was misty so I was little less aware of the 2,000 foot drop on both sides of this ridge.

I’m glad it was misty so I was little less aware of the 2,000 foot drop on both sides of this ridge.

When we arrive at the lava flows, I am so glad that we opted to make the trek from Þorsmork (pronounced “Thorsmork”) to this misty pass between the Eyjafjallajökull and Mýrdalsjökull glaciers here in southern Iceland.  Yesterday the forecast looked grim, with rain and high winds predicted. Several of the groups camped out at the huts in Þorsmork bailed Saturday morning on the early bus to Reykjavik.  Our group of nine, led by our guide Elin, decided that we would attempt the hike to the Fimmvörðuháls pass, but would postpone our start until after lunch to avoid the worst of the weather.

That’s one great advantage of summer-time hiking in Iceland – although the sun may briefly set, it never gets dark, so hikers can hike around the clock without worrying about walking in the dark. After seven days in Iceland, I have come to appreciate long days of light (with about three hours of dusky twilight) and to enjoy wandering about after dinner for a 10 p.m. walk.  (Wearing blinders helps me to get a good night’s sleep).

July 2013 DF 192

We hiked in the braided bed of the Krossá River en route to the glaciers. When Katla erupts, this river bed might quickly fill with raging icy water.

My husband and I came to Iceland to do the world-renowned Laugavegur trek from Landmannalaugar to Þorsmork, and then to continue the trek by hiking from Þorsmork over the pass and then down along the many waterfalls of the Skógaá.  I had long wanted to complete this trek, but I especially wanted to climb up to the glaciers to see the landscape created by the 2010 eruption of the volcano beneath Eyjafjallajökull glacier.

In April 2010, the Eyjafjallajökull eruption created a cloud of moisture-laden ash that shut down all air traffic to and from Europe for almost two weeks. Today, scientists in Iceland are monitoring Katla, the volcano that lies beneath the other, larger glacier, Mýrdalsjökull, and which has erupted every 40-60 years since Iceland was settled around 800 AD.  The volcano, which may be the largest in the northern hemisphere, is way overdue for its eruption and recently has been showing signs of increased activity.  Because of its size and power, Katla is a more destructive volcano, mostly due to the intense flash floods created when ice over the volcanic vent melts.  Trailside signs within a 25-mile radius of Katla tell hikers to run for high ground if they see or hear flares that mountain hut masters will shoot into the air if an eruption is imminent.

July 2013 DF 201

Just for fun, another view of the narrow ridge. I didn’t dare take out my camera at the other tricky spot, where I clung to an anchored chain only to realize half-way across that most of the anchors had pulled loose.

For months now, I had been looking forward to the climb up to the pass, where we planned to spend the night in a small mountain hut.  But I have to say, when Elin said the weather might prevent us from hiking to the glaciers, I wasn’t as crushed as I might have expected. I greatly enjoyed the four-day Laugavegur trek from Landmannalaugar, but I hadn’t undertaken a multi-day hike since before my son was born, and I was pretty hiked out after four long days on the trail.

But when we arrive at the glacier, all of us soaking wet despite our rain gear, I am so so glad we made it here.  Wrinkled mounds of dark reddish-brown cooled lava rise out of the snow.  Up close, I can see broken off lava tubes through which the molten lave poured in 2010. When I put my hand on the earth, I can feel the warmth leftover from the eruption.  These lava fields are amazing ++!

Lava fields in a misty landscape between the two glaciers.

Lava fields in a misty landscape between the two glaciers.

To get to the lava fields, we climbed up about 3000 feet (1000 meters) from Þorsmork – the Valley of  Thor – along a path that rose gradually over about six or seven miles. By New England standards, the hiking was fairly easy and not steep. At one point, however, we walked across a three-foot wide ridge, with the mountain dropping off a 2,000 feet on each side, a softer version of the Knife Edge at Maine’s Mount Katahdin.  I felt a wee bit terrified, but manage to scramble across the ridge.

Later, as we climbed higher, we walked on a path about 16 inches wide, with volcanic-sand mountain on one side and a steep drop-off on the other.  Along the path was a chain that hikers can hold onto for security, but the chain was anchored in the sandy-rocky volcanic scree, and at several points, the anchors had pulled free.  So, not much security there.  But it’s good to live on the edge, right? And maybe that’s why I wanted to come here, to see if I still have it in me to live on that edge.

Our Romanian hiking buddy Michaela points out a lava tube.

Our Romanian hiking buddy Michaela points out a lava tube.

At the rainy pass, after spending some time exploring the lava fields, we continue on in a thick mist, trudging through mushy snow towards the hut where we will spend the night.  By the time we reach it, all of us are thoroughly soaked. A scramble of changing clothes, stringing up lines, and hanging things ensues.  This hut, which is newly built and at which we are the first or nearly the first visitors, sits on a gravelly flat spot on the pass and is very exposed to the wind.  The hut had an outhouse, but it blew away a few days after its installation.

Our guide stands on a snowfield melting over the lava.

Our guide stands on a snowfield melting over the lava.

By now, it is after 9 p.m. In the tiny kitchen area, Elin efficiently prepares a late-night supper of lightly fried Arctic char.  Our group, which includes four other American hikers, a German guy and a young woman from Romania, gathers around the table and dives into the food.  I am so happy to be here, on this ghostly mountain pass on a mid-summer eve.

The total hiking distance for the trek from Landmannalaugar to Skogar is roughly 72 kilometers (45 miles) over 6 days, with a maximum daily ascent of 800 meters (2600 feet) and about 4-7 hours of hiking time per day.

A view of the hut at Fimmvörðuháls . The mist was starting to clear.

A view of the hut at Finnmordhuhals. The mist was starting to clear.

Resources

As I said in my earlier post, I completed this trek with a group through Icelandic Mountain Guides, but hikers can do it on their own too.

See a few more photos below!

We saw more than 20 waterfalls on the hike down to the highway and Skogar Falls.

We saw more than 20 waterfalls on the hike from the hut at Fimmvörðuháls down to Skogar. Pictured here, Skogar Falls, which is directly off a major highway.

You can't blog about Iceland and NOT include a photo of the Blue Lagoon. It's overpriced and touristy, but those flaws don't make it any less spectacular.

You can’t blog about Iceland and NOT include a photo of the Blue Lagoon. It’s overpriced and touristy, but those flaws don’t make it any less spectacular.