Skulls of history in a forgotten tomb

Posted on July 19, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

Where was he, the most noteworthy man who ever called my town home?

Back and forth I wandered, searching. Where was the life-sized portrait of Sir William Pepperrell?

At the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts, nobody seemed to know, at least not the two young gallery guards I asked. At last, an older gentleman led me through American Decorative Arts to my baron.

We turned a corner and came upon an entire wall taken up by the portrait, which easily was one of the largest on display at the PEM. But even here, Sir William was largely forgotten, just another guy on the wall.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg, at Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.

Such is the fleeting nature of fame  — even when you were once one of the wealthiest and most famous men in the American colonies, and the only American-born Englishman ever awarded a baronetcy.

Reproductions of this portrait of Colonial William Pepperrell (the rags-to-riches orphan who built the Pepperrell Mansion in the late 1600s) are found in several 19th century histories. I have been unable to locate the name of the artist or the current owner/location of the portrait, which may or may not be that of the first William Pepperrell.

Reproductions of this portrait of the first William Pepperrell are found in several 19th century histories.

The Pepperrells were upstarts start-from-nothing Americans. Sir William’s father, William Pepperrell, came to New England as a teenaged orphan working on a cod fishing boat at the Isles of Shoals, just off the coast of Maine and New Hampshire.

After completing his apprenticeship, young Pepperrell used his earnings to buy his first boat. Eventually, he bought more boats, leased them out, and combined his knowledge of the fishery with his business acumen to build an empire. His 1682 Pepperrell Mansion still dominates Kittery Point’s Pepperrell Cove neighborhood today.

William, his son, expanded the empire and became a colonial real estate magnate, buying up property on Maine’s coast from Kittery to Scarborough. Both father and son, however, did more than count their dollars.  William senior helped to establish establish Kittery’s First Congregational Church, and was active in civic affairs, a legacy continued by his son, who served as a court judge and commanded the local militia.

By the 1740s, Kittery Point had little need for an active militia, as the threat of Indian raids on the coast had faded.  But Britain and France remained engaged in warfare. In 1745, Massachusetts Governor William Shirley, abetted by others, decided that the colonists should try to dislodge the French from their fort at Louisbourg, on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. He asked William Pepperrell (the son) to raise an army of 4,000 men and take command of an expedition upon Louisbourg.

Pepperrell had no military field experience.  When he accepted the command of this inexperienced citizen-soldier army, he knew the outcome was far from certain.

Long story short: After a lengthy siege, Pepperrell’s force, aided by the British Navy, captured the fort, and King George II made him a baronet. The American who had commanded the force that defeated a European army returned home to much acclaim.

Three years later, New Englanders had to swallow a bitter pill when the fort was returned to France as part of a swap for a British fort captured by the French in India. But the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle couldn’t take away that fact that the colonials had learned, under Pepperrell, that they could hold their own against professional soldiers – a lesson the next generation remembered 30 years later on the eve of the American Revolution.

Sir William Pepperrell, some say, became an inspiration for New England’s patriots. Conveniently, he passed away in 1759, so he could be remembered for Louisbourg without having to declare himself a Patriot or a Loyalist, as his Loyalist grandson William Pepperrell had to do. In 1774, his fellow citizens recalled Pepperrell as a “great American.”

In the 1730s (or possibly earlier), William built a large tomb for his father – a crypt dug into the side of a hill on a field across from the Pepperrell Mansion. A slab of imported marble capped the tomb, and the first William, who lived into his 80s, was interred there in 1734.  Later, other family members joined the patriarch, including the Hero of Louisbourg.

A postcard depicting the Pepperrell Tomb circa 1910-1920, when the tomb was a tourist attraction for the thousands of visitors who stayed in Kittery’s five Gilded Age hotels.  The trees are no longer standing, but the basic appearance of the tomb today is the same (1908 postcard, creator unknown).

But by the mid-19th century, Sir William’s tomb had fallen into disrepair. Writing in 1875, popular historian Samuel Drake noted that when the tomb was repaired, at the behest of Pepperrell descendent Harriet Hirst Sparhawk, “the remains were found lying in a promiscuous heap at the bottom, the wooden shelves at the sides having given way, precipitating the coffins upon the floor of the vault. The planks first used to close the entrance had yielded to the pressure of the feet of cattle grazing in the common field, filling the tomb with rubbish. About thirty skulls were found in various stages of decomposition.”

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of different members of the Pepperrell family, including Sir William. The photo, courtesy of the Portsmouth Atheneum, was probably taken by descendent and local historian Joe Frost, as it was found tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum.

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of various members of the Pepperrell family, including (possibly) Sir William. The photo was probably taken in the 1970s by descendant and local historian Joseph Frost, as it was discovered tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum (Joseph W.P. Frost Collection, Portsmouth Atheneum).

Although the tomb was repaired then, it has repeatedly fallen into a cycle of neglect and renovation. Another source notes that at the turn of the 20th century, young boys played games in and around the tomb.  For many years, the Pepperrell Family Association maintained the tomb, but that organization disbanded in 1937, probably because its members had died, or moved away, or lost interest in a now-distant ancestor. At that time, according to notes and documents in the Frost Collection at the Portsmouth Atheneum, the tomb plot was signed over to a relative in a distant state.

For years, it seems, care of the tomb has depended on happenstance and somebody taking an interest. At the time of Drake’s writing, the proprietor of the Pepperrell Hotel, which overlooked the tomb, took an interest. But because the tomb is sort of an island onto itself, not in a cemetery, not in somebody’s backyard, it is easily forgotten.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. These rings were worn by relatives and others to show they were in mourning. We should do more of that kind of memorial today, although the cost of purchasing 14K gold rings for a large number of mourners is probably reserved to the 1%, as was likely also the case in 1759.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. The family distributed these rings to mourners.  I like the idea of this tradition — a small but public display of mourning — although I’m sure the cost of the rings limited the practice to wealthier Americans.

In more recent times, local historian and Pepperrell descendent Joseph Frost (now deceased) corresponded with state officials and others, trying to get a person, a state agency, or some entity to take responsibility for the tomb, to assure that it didn’t again fall into a state of disrepair or neglect (Joseph W. P. Frost Collection, Portmouth Atheneum).

Back in the early 1960s, two people who claimed to represent the disbanded Pepperrell Family Association filed a quit-claim deed signing the lot over to the owner of Frisbee’s Store. He built a parking lot on the lower part of the tomb plot and carried out his obligations, per the deed, to maintain the tomb.  But eventually, the tomb was forgotten again, with brush, grass and trees growing up around it.

I’m still not exactly sure who or what “owns” the tomb, but in 2008, volunteers from the Friends of Fort McClary cleaned up the tomb.  Once again, Kittery’s forgotten hero was remembered. Today, a small American flag and the Union Jack flutter on grassy knoll across the street from Frisbee’s.

I wonder how many years will pass before we forget him again. I know that with volunteers, keeping something going often depends on one or two key people. They get sick, or move away, or die, or just get weary of responsibility.

Is forgetting the tomb an inevitable result of our on-to-go individualistic American lives? I haven’t visited the grave of my paternal grandparents since my grandmother died in the 1970s. I’ve visited the grave of my maternal grandparents once or twice in 15 years. I don’t even know the locations of the graves belonging to my great-grandparents, even though one great-grandmother lived long into my adulthood.

But my great-grandmother didn’t lead an expedition that inspired  a generation of Americans that they had it in them to win a war against a world power.  That’s a man worth remembering.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.  The first William Pepperrell built this house, on a plot of land given to him by his father-in-law, John Bray, who lived next door.  Sir William the son  lived here with his family until his death in 1759, when Lady Mary Pepperrell built her own more modern mansion town the street.

PS: Readers, if you know anything more about the tomb, please add your comments or email me, and I will update the information in this post.

Sources and resources

For more on the Pepperrells, I especially recommended the last chapter of my book, Pioneer on a Mountain Bike, along with my posts, “Ghost of a Pepperrell Lady“, “Globalization,circa 1807, curses the Lady Pepperrell House“and “Nathaniel Sparhawk and the Art of Swagger.”

The Kittery Naval and Historical Museum has several Pepperrell artifacts on display, including — possibly — a telescope that William might have used at Louisbourg.

For more on 18th and 19th century mourning rings, see Historic New England’s online exhibit, Not Lost But Gone Before: Mourning Jewelry.

Drake, Samuel Adams.  Nooks and Crannies of the New England Coast. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1875.

 

Posted in Seacoast (mostly) History | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Presidential aspirations: You can’t always get what you want

Posted on July 6, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

I have long held Presidential aspirations — that is, to complete the Presidential traverse hike across the highest peaks of New England including Mount Washington, Jefferson,  Adams, and Madison.

Moon over Mount Adams, with Madison Hut in the foreground.

Moon over Mount Adams, with Madison Spring Hut in the foreground.

I love the high open alpine terrain of these summits, and the sense of being on top of the world.

But the weather is predictably unpredictable in the mountains, especially on 6,288-foot Mount Washington, which is known for creating its own weather. In any given June, only 10 days of the month are sunny or partly sunny.

But even a hike through the clouds would be awesome. Stretching my Presidential hike over three days, with two nights in alpine huts operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) increased the odds of hiking at least one day under sunny clear skies.

My son, aka the Seal, was up for the challenge — his first big overnight hike – even if he didn’t know exactly what he was getting into. His friend, wearing thin sneakers and carrying an oversized school backpack, was also game.

Spoiler: we didn’t get to complete our Presidential hike. But our three days in the mountains reminded me of these truths about hiking.

Your kids will eventually hike faster than you can, but only if you don’t torture them when they are young.

Summer 2015 005

Tama Fall, on the Fallsway parallel to the lower part of the Valley Way trail, was running full thanks to recent rainfall.

We began our hike under partly cloudy skies, with rain in the forecast, so I decided to start out on the Valley Way trail, the most protected route to Madison Spring Hut. The boys quickly raced ahead on the trail, waiting for me to catch up at each junction.

If the weather held off, I planned to cross over, via the Scar Trail, to the Air Line Trail so we could take in the drama of King Ravine.  My pack felt heavier than a couple of weeks earlier, when I had carried a full load into the Desolation Wilderness. The terrain was steeper, but I think I mostly felt slow, creaky, and weighted down in contrast to the 14-year-olds.

My son is definitely not a hard-core outdoorsy kid, but I have spent years choosing shorter easier hikes with interesting features to make hiking palatable and (hopefully) interesting and fun. Now comes the payoff for not torturing him when he was young:  torture for me!

It had rained hard enough for us to put on our rain gear, but the rain let up by the time we got to the sign. People die in these mountains every year, including a woman hiker who perished not far from Madison Hut during the past winter while trying to climb Mount Adams.

It had rained hard enough for us to put on our rain gear, but the rain let up by the time we got to the sign. People die in these mountains every year, including a young woman who perished this past February not far from Madison Hut.

When it rains, you get wet.

Having good rain gear and stay-dry clothing helps in weathering the storm, but the rain eventually leaks into the jacket, the boots get waterlogged from sloshing through too many puddles, and invariably some item gets waterlogged because you forgot to wrap it in plastic.

At first, clouds filled the depths of King Ravine.

Then the clouds lifted, revealing the depths of the Ravine.

A warm and dry bunk in an alpine hut is better than a suite at a luxury hotel, especially when said bunk (multiplied by three or four people) costs as much or more.

Ah, Madison Spring Hut! This historic hut, on the site of mountain hospitality since 1889, was rebuilt in 2011.  I love the new layout and little luxuries: a dining room that doesn’t feel as crowded, individual bunk lights that energy-efficient lights, and best of all, the third-level bunk private-ish suites. The boys quickly climbed up the ladder to these bunks, designed to be impossible to fall from, with a wall on one side of each bunk, and a heavy wooden platform screen connecting two bunks (with four bunks total stretching across the rafters).  They promptly took possession of their suite, laid themselves out to dry, and passed out like two-year-olds taking a long-delayed afternoon nap.

Being on a mountain at sunset is awesome.

One of the greatest benefits of staying in an alpine huts experiencing the last rays of the day from a mountain top. The 5,367-foot summit of Mount Madison rises a half-mile above the hut, making for an easy (albeit strenuous) climb.

 

Reaching the summit of Mount Madison after dinner, with plenty of time to get back to the hut before dark.

Hanging out on  the summit of Mount Madison after dinner, with plenty of time, in June,  to get back to the hut before dark.

The sky glowed above Mount Washington as we climbed back down to the hut.

At twilight, the clouds cleared and the sky glowed above Mount Washington.

New England weather is fickle, especially in the mountains.

Yes, yes, everyone knows this, but why does this truism always have to be true?? For days, I had been checking the long-range forecast, thinking that I might reorganize the trip by a day if the weather looked bad. (Although not well publicized, AMC, known for their ironclad no-refund policies, will let you make a one-time switch to your itinerary on a space-available basis). On Saturday, the weather looked great! But by the time we hit the trail, the forecast had evolved from great to gray to grim: high winds, severe thunderstorms, heavy rain, and flash floods.

I held out hope that the weather front might pass through early, or hold off until later, but on Tuesday morning, after providing the weather forecast, the hut “croo” at Madison strongly discouraged anyone from walking across the six-mile exposed Gulfside Trail towards Mount Washington and the hut at Lake of the Clouds, our destination for Tuesday night.

More than 140 people have died in these mountains over the past 150 or so years, in all four seasons. I knew that we had to abandon our plans. I switched our reservation to Highland Center down in Crawford Notch and debated options for the next day, when the weather would clear.

The thought of putting on wet socks and then lacing on waterlogged boots is worse than the reality of doing so.

We hiked out the Valley Way trail in the pouring rain. My pricey Marmot jacket quickly became a wet skin. At one point, I had to take off my glasses so that I could sort of see the trail. The rain eventually let up, and we reached the Appalachia parking lot, where a kiosk provided shelter from the rain when it started up again. I was so grateful when The AMC shuttle arrived ahead of schedule.

After a hard hike, the cheapest glass of wine tastes great.

Mondavi Chardonnay, with dinner at the Highland Center, preceded by afternoon coffee at The Met in North Conway while the boys filled up on “penny” candy at Zeb’s General Store.  We even managed a visit to White Birch Books.

The view of Crawford Notch from the Highland Center patio. Down in the Notch, the rain had stopped, but I knew that it could be storming wildly up on the higher summits.

The view of Crawford Notch from the Highland Center. Down in the Notch, the rain had stopped, but I knew that it could be storming wildly up on the higher summits.

Sometimes driving a car up a mountain is better than walking.

I briefly contemplated a day hike up Mount Washington for our third day. Strong winds were slamming the summit, but hikers coming up the southeastern side of the mountain wouldn’t feel the full force of the northwest winds until reaching the summit cone. But then I looked at my wet boots, and remembered my rule about not torturing children.

It’s not much fun to hike for any length of time when the wind is blowing hard.  But strong winds make a great day for driving the Mount Washington Auto Road.

The wind was blowing hard and steady, and we leaned into it.

The wind was blowing hard and steady. We leaned into it, and loved it.

When we arrived at the summit, the wind was blowing a steady 40-45 mph, with gusts in the 60 mph range. That doesn’t sound so bad – and it isn’t, if you aren’t try to move forward on your feet. In fact, it’s great fun to lean in to the wind, and then let it chase you around.

Inside the State Park building, we milled around with senior citizens and tourists who had come up on the Cog Railway and visited the new “Extreme Mount Washington” exhibit that features a compelling account of the April 1934 record-setting wind, when observers clocked the wind speed at 231 mph.

But we couldn’t experience Mount Washington without a hike, so after lunch,  we began the steep descent towards Tuckerman’s Ravine to do a two-mile loop hike down to and through the Alpine Garden trail, an alpine plateau that blooms with rare wildflowers in June.

View of Tuckerman's Ravine as we turned onto the Lion's Head Trail and then onto the Alpine Garden trail.

View of Tuckerman’s Ravine as we turned on to the Lion’s Head Trail and then the Alpine Garden trail, which cuts across a plateau towards Huntington Ravine.

Heading downhill, we soon left the wind behind as we encountered a steady stream of hikers on their final leg up the mountain. The walk down was slow going for me, but the boys continued their mountain goat act. The trail through the Gardens was easy and open, although I expected to see more flowers for this time of year. Either I just missed them, or they hadn’t yet come out in full bloom, or “garden” is a relative term in Mount Washington’s harsh environment.

As we climbed uphill again, towards Ball Crag and the summit, we again felt the wind’s full force. By the time we reached the car, I was feeling pretty beat up, but strong enough to move the car in the empty parking lot to take advantage of perfect westerly views towards Franconia Ridge.

An imperfect trip to the mountains is always better always better than going to the office (or doing housework, running errands, going to doctor appointments).

I had hoped to climb Mount Jefferson on this trip, and touch upon Mount Monroe, two 5,000 footers on my to-climb list. But as a glass half-full type, I see this year’s loss as next year’s opportunity.  I’ll be back—along with at least one other hiker who already is strategizing on how to get some additional teenagers on the trail.

We'll try again next year -- or maybe in the fall.

We’ll try again next year — or maybe in the fall.

Sources and resources

For information on hut stays, visit the Appalachian Mountain Club website.  The AMC also offers a shuttle service at key trailheads and lodges so that hikers can do point-to-point hikes across the mountains.  Hikers can also use a shuttle service to or from Mount Washington — see the Auto Road website for details.

The Mount Washington Weather Observatory Higher Summits forecast provides detailed information on weather for both the region and the higher summits in the Presidential Range.

For more reading about Mount Washington, see some of my posts from my week-long stay on the summit in January, 2014:

The world’s worst weather: Bring it on!

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

Crisis on Mount Washington: The empty sugar barrel

The wind howls and we stir the pot

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family and Kids, Hiking, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Beautiful desolation at Lake Aloha

Posted on June 28, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity; and that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.“~John Muir, Our National Parks (1901)

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners/

Many wildflowers bloomed on the trail, including the phlox familiar to most New England gardeners.

Could I still carry a fully loaded backpack and not be crushed by its weight and the forces of middle age?

Well, I knew I could do it. The real question was, could I carry a full backpack and enjoy myself?

The occasion was my friend Natasha’s 50th birthday. The destination, Lake Aloha in the California’s Desolation Wilderness, near Lake Tahoe.

I made my checklist – tent, pots, Bearikade container filled with three days worth of food  — and scrutinized each item for its weight. Over the past couple of years, I’ve replaced various pieces of old gear with ultralight equipment – like my 15 oz Z-Pack sleeping bag – but still couldn’t quite commit myself to the raw food/no stove ultra ultralight approach. For me, drinking cup of hot coffee or tea at a remote campsite is part of the wilderness experience. But could I do without a book, a journal? I couldn’t.  I threw both in and strapped on the pack for the trip to the airport.

When I arrived in San Francisco, heavy rain was falling –a totally unanticipated event in this drought-ridden state. On-and-off heavy downpours continued as we drove to Echo Lake, where we planned to take the water taxi to its upper end.  On our drive, we debated options: stay in a cabin or lodge for the night? Head out in the rain?

At the Echo Lake store, we learned that the cabins across the way were not yet open, but a water taxi was loading up.  We rapidly re-organized our stuff, pulled on rain gear, and jumped in boat.

When we set off from the trailhead at the upper end of Echo Lake, my pack didn’t feel terrible. By then, the rain had stopped, and the leftover dampness tamped down the dusty trail that I remember from previous hikes here. The air felt fresh and the usually dusty sage brush smelled sagey. Orange paintbrush and pink phlox bloomed beside the trail. As we walked among the ponderosa at Haypress Meadows, the grass glowed vibrant green.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to arrive at Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was starting to clear.

We hiked in about three miles from Upper Echo Lake to Lake of the Woods just as the gray sky was clearing.  There, we found the perfect campsite, tucked in the trees 100 feet back from the lake (per the permit requirements), but just steps away from a granite peninsula that made for a fine lakeside kitchen and lounging platform. Mid-week in June we were the only campers here for two nights, although we encountered many heading up the trail from Echo Lake on Friday.

I was glad I remembered to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade bear-proof food canister, especially after I realized I had locked the swiss army knife in with the food. The meal was a delicious dehydrated Thai curry from Good-to-Go, a little start-up food company at the end of my street in Kittery.  Real vegetables — green beans, hunks of cauliflower — sprung to after soaking in boiling hot water for 20 minutes. As we ate dinner, a mother duckling and her five ducklings paddled by.

I left Kittery at 3:30 a.m. by sunset was enjoying a late sunset dinner at Lake of the Woods. I'm glad I remember to bring a couple of dimes so that we could open the Bearikade food canister, especially after we realized we had locked the swiss army knife in with the food.

I left Kittery, Maine at 3:30 a.m. and by sunset was enjoying a late Pacific Time dinner at Lake of the Woods.

A bottle of champagne only weights a couple of pounds.

A bottle of champagne only weighs about 1.5 pounds, so we threw it into the pack. Happy Birthday, Natasha!

As the sun set, my friend and I toasted with the champagne we’d brought (along with our books) and continued our non-stop conversation about our families, jobs, mutual friends, politics, books, Morocco (where we both served as Peace Corps Volunteers), and a hundred other topics.

I was definitely enjoying the moment, but confessed that I wasn’t fully immersed in it, because in my head, I already was planning another backpack.  “I know what you mean,” Natasha said. “I’m feeling greedy for more of this.”

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a low-tech reservoir formed by a series of five small dams constructed over the years to assure a consistent pool of water in the summer months. But these are small stone and earth dams.

Our first view of Lake Aloha, which stretches out for 3.5 miles in the Desolation Wilderness. The lake is actually a group of small lakes and puddles stitched together by five dams into a shallow reservoir. As visible in this photo, the water was quite low for this time of year when it is typically filled with Sierra snowpack runoff.  The Lake is a popular destination for backpackers, but also makes a fine destination for a day hike, about 10 miles RT from upper Echo Lake .

That first night, more rain fell, but we were warm and dry in my tent. The next morning, after our backcountry coffee , we set out on the trail for Lake Aloha.

The 64,000-acre Desolation Wilderness, one of the nation’s most popular, is well-travelled. Gold miners once prospected here, without much luck, and cattle grazed in Haypress Meadows, before receiving official wilderness status in 1969 (although the area had been less restrictively protected for many years as part of the El Dorado National Forest).

In general, the Forest Service struggles with the idea of wilderness. Can an area threaded with hiking trails truly be called a wilderness?  Purists want to abolish trails and all man-made structures (like dams or shelters) in federal wilderness areas. However, a wilderness with no trails or trail signs and which is travelled by thousands of hikers is one in which many people will get lost.  Thus, all major trail junctions have signposts with arrows, but the trails are not marked with blazes or cairns.

Without blazes and cairns, it is fairly easy to lose the trail in the Desolation, but not hard to navigate back to where you thought you were, as long as you have a good map. We learned this truth early, when we missed the junction for Lake Aloha, and found ourselves confronting a large granite wall at the far end of Lake of the Woods. A couple of rocky slides looked like they might be climbable without the risk of death, but, having children back at home, we opted not to scramble up steep rock cliffs.  A short backtrack, along with our map, led us to the trail that threads up and through a meadow before descending to Lake Aloha.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands -- lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and jumped in, briefly, to the icy cold but refreshing water. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

Lake Aloha features many granite outcroppings and small granite islands — lots of nooks and crannies. We found a private spot and waded in to the icy water for about 2 minutes. Swimmers flock here in the summer, when the lake is shallower and warmer.

In sharp contrast to its landscape, Lake Aloha conjures up hibiscus and jasmine and other lush tropical flowers. By mid-summer, the straggly stands of paintbrush and other wildflowers will have wilted, and this will be a landscape of granite, dust and scraggly Sierra pines.  But in early June, the walking along and above the lake was easy.  We set aim for Heather Lake, just beyond, and had lunch there before turning back to our base camp.

Again, we lost the trail. Instead of climbing to the meadow, we found ourselves looking out at the granite landscape of the Desolation Valley, with Pyramid Peak in the distance. We knew that Lake of the Woods was below this ridge and not far, but didn’t want to take our chances on bushwhacking to the head of a steep rock wall.  A short backtrack led us to the trail junction and we were on our way.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

Another view of Lake Aloha as we turned back towards Lake of the Woods.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

A very assertive Sierra marmot tried to steal our lunch at Heather Lake, just past the far end of Lake Aloha.

Back at the campsite, we finished off the champagne and stuffed ourselves with a chipotle three-bean chili before retiring to the tent.

Towards dawn, I woke up to the chorus of coyotes howling and yipping up on the ridge. Tucked in my sleeping bag, inside the thin walls of a nylon tent, I was exactly where I wanted to be. Although I had carried in more gear than I needed, I felt lighter than I had in years.

While exploring the Desolation Valley, we found this horse sculpture with a view of Pyramid Peak.

Before packing out, we explored the territory behind Lake of the Woods and found this sculpture looking to Pyramid Peak

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Frata Lake, a sweet spot tucked behind Lake of the Woods in the aptly-named Desolation Valley. A helicopter buzzed above us in a zig-zag pattern and we wondered for whom or what it was searching. As we explored, we realized that the Desolation Valley gradually flows down from Lake Aloha to the far end of Lake of the Woods. Maps are great!

Sources and resources

The Desolation Wilderness is laced with over 150 miles of trails, and offers many great options for both day hikes and backpacks.  On an earlier trip, we enjoyed a dusty and hot family hike to Tamarack Lake (from Upper Echo Lake).  Swimming at Susie Lake is a great reward after a three mile-ish hike in.

Visit the Desolation Wilderness website for information on trails  and permits.

Although the 19th century writing reads slow, anyone who hikes in the Sierra needs to spend a summer slowly savoring John Muir’s My First Summer in the Sierra.

Posted in Hiking, Mountains, Travels | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

One hike, many discoveries: A plane crash, a fire tower and stone-age couches

Posted on June 8, 2015 by Dianne Fallon
The last stretch over and up to Piper Mountain featured beautiful open terrain.

The Belknap Range in New Hampshire’s Lake Region offers interesting and varied hiking terrain, like this stretch of trail over and up to Piper Mountain.

Would we find the plane crash? That was the motivating question as I hit the road early one morning in late June with three middle-school boys.

More than 40 years ago, on June 18, 1972, a small plane bound for Boston vanished in New Hampshire’s Lakes Region after taking off from Laconia Airport.  A search was launched, but the plane had evaporated.  A year later — or maybe two years later — in June 0f 1973 or 1974, the wreckage was found, just a few hundred yards below the summit of well-travelled Mount Belknap.

At least that’s the story, according to a few internet sites. More complete information — such as the pilot’s name and age, the type of plane, the source of the internet information — remains elusive.  A search of Boston Globe archives turns up several other small plane crashes in New England in the early 1970s, but not a word about the plane that slammed into Mount Belknap.

Setting out, all we knew for sure was that we might find the wreckage on the side of Mount Belknap.  Or we might not. In seeking out the crash site, I didn’t wish to make sport of a tragedy.  The wreckage, like the mountain range that holds it, is a mystery that pulls us onto the trail  — especially three teens who might otherwise be satisfied by the glow of a screen.

Also, the prospect of climbing the Mount Belknap fire tower and then lounging in stone chairs on Piper Mountain add up to a day of hiking that even the most hardened video gamer finds hard to resist.

So, armed with plenty of bug spray against black flies, we set off for the Belknap Range in Gilford, New Hampshire to climb Belknap and Piper Mountains,  with plans to also hit the  Gunstock Mountain summit, just to say we did it.

We started our hike at the parking lot at the end of the Belknap Mountain Carriage Road (see directions and details at bottom of post).  Various approaches exist to all three mountains; the Carriage Road parking lot offers access to a variety of easy loop hikes on the west side of the range.

We began with a short hike up the Blue Trail (which leads to the summit of Belknap Mountain) to the Belknap-Gunstock col, where we turned left on the Saddle Trail to get a summer view from Gunstock’s 2250-foot summit, where we have often enjoyed ski-lift vistas of Lake Winnipesaukee in the winter.

The whizz of the Gunstock’s zip line sliced through the air.  Not an offensive sound, just noteworthy.  Passing the zipline platform, we backtracked to the Blue Trail and hiked through the forest towards the summit of Belknap Mountain.

The plane wreckage is not visible from the trail, but I’d read that the turn-off to the site was marked with a small bit of surveying tape, just below the Belknap summit.  As we hiked along, we kept an eye out for that bit of tape.  Just as we were about to give up, I spied the orange tape, hanging on a branch, about 2/10ths of a mile below the summit, and could see the faint outline of a “herd path” on the left (down the steep slope).

Hiking down to the crash site required careful footing over a rough rock fall.  Although it seems impossible that a plane could vanish in this well-travelled region, once in the sun-dappled forest, I could see how easily that might happen, especially after the leaves have burst forth on the trees.

About a one-tenth of a steep pitch off the trail, we found the wreckage. The boys were excited to find the plane crash, and I reminded them to be respectful — that this was not a playground, but a place where someone had died.  I won’t deny that there’s a certain voyeuristic element to looking for a plane crash. But searching for such sites is also a way of honoring the memory of those who died.  The hunt for the wreckage, I think, cultivates the same spirit that led the pilot to take up flying. Bad things happen, but that doesn’t mean we should give up on adventure, or on exploring and pushing boundaries.

Who doesn't love a fire tower, especially when it offers a breezy refuge from June blackflies? We ate our lunch here on top of Belknap Mountain.

Who doesn’t love a fire tower, especially when it offers a breezy refuge from June blackflies? We ate our lunch here on top of Belknap Mountain.

After we had looked over the crash site, we clambered back up to the main trail, and quickly reached the summit of 2382-foot Belknap Mountain, where a well-maintained fire tower offers 360 degree views of the Lakes Region.

After the tower,  we set off for the grand finale — the last leg on the ridge, on the White Trail to the junction of the Old Piper Trail (Orange Trail), for the ascent to Piper Mountain (2,044 feet), and its odd collection of stone sculptures and thrones.

Piper Mountain lived up to its billing as one of the most intriguing mountain destinations in New Hampshire — an open, barren summit, with plenty of room to run around and jump from rock to rock — or to stretch out on a throne of granite.

Relaxing in one of the many stone thrones atop Piper Mountain.

Relaxing in one of the many stone thrones atop Piper Mountain.

We finished our loop by taking the Piper Mountain Trail (Red) down the mountain, exiting onto Carriage Road just below the parking lot.  All told, we had hiked about five miles and were ready for ice cream.

Another hiker was waiting at the parking lot family members to arrive so they could get in a quick hike before the Carriage Road gate closed at 6 p.m.  We struck up a conversation, and he told me that he had found the crash and the remains of the pilot (a skeleton) back in 1974.

“I was hiking and I just happened to look down, saw something yellow, and there it was,” he said.

The wreckage, he said, remained undiscovered for two years, not one (as is often reported), and that one person — the pilot — was in the plane, not two (again, often reported).

I didn’t grill him for further details, but was struck by how internet has created its own facts about the crash (not for the first time, to be sure).  I did ask him for ice cream recommendations. We set off for Sawyer’s Dairy Bar in Gilford, and our friend proved to be a highly trustworthy source on ice cream.

Although the plane crash cut one man’s life way too short, I’m glad we found it, because the search led me to the mysteries of the Belknap Range.  Now, the map invites me to hike to Round Pond, the ledges of Whiteface Mountain, and many other off-the-beaten path destinations just over an hour from home. I’ll be back to do more exploring.

My son warned me that this photo is not the most flattering, but I loved my throne on Piper Mountain, so I'm posting it anyway.

My son warned me that this photo is not the most flattering, but I loved my throne on Piper Mountain, so I’m posting it anyway.

Additional resources and information

Directions to Belknap Carriage Road parking lot (access point for various trails):
At Gilford Village, leave Route 11A and follow Belknap Mountain Road south, bearing left at .8 miles and right at 1.4 miles. At 2.4 miles, the Belknap Carriage Road forks left.  Follow it 1.5 miles to the parking lot.  The road is gated, near the lot, and the gate closes at 6 p.m.  Signs point to various trails next to or near the parking lot, and you may have to look around, but it’s not hard to find whatever particular trail you are looking for.

Belknap Range Trails provides detailed descriptions of hikes in the region, and includes a link to a printable map (definitely recommended). AMC’s Southern New Hampshire Trail Guide also provides detailed information on the various trail options, although it is hard to follow the descriptions without a map.

We found the geocache box at the plane crash site with no specific instructions, just by looking around.  I am more a low-tech letterbox-type myself, and have since learned that several letterboxes (see list here) are tucked beneath stumps and rocks on Belknap, Piper and other mountains in the area.

Mount Major is the most popular family hike in the Lakes Region, but further to the north and east, I also recommend the Morgan-Percival loop for its fun caves and ladders.

Further afield, the 5-mile-ish Welch-Dickey Loop, near Waterville Valley, is another great family hike.

Posted in Family and Kids, Hiking, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Three generations, ten springs of exploring Cape Cod

Posted on June 1, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

For ten years now, I’ve made a spring pilgrimage to Cape Cod with my son and mother, for a few nights over the April spring vacation week or on a weekend in May. We take advantage of off-season rates at the Ocean Edge Resort in Brewster, and participate in certain must-repeat rituals, like shopping at the Brewster Bookstore, eating ice cream outdoors at JT’s Seafood Restaurant, and playing Marco Polo in Ocean Edge indoor pool, where my mother is probably the oldest guest to ever play that game.

But each time we visit, I try to find something new and different that fulfills this simple criteria: the activity or destination must be something that all three of can do and enjoy together. Not a kid thing, like jumping on trampolines (although we do that too). Not an adult thing, like visiting an art museum. Over these ten years, my son has grown from a toddler to a teenager while my mother has become a bit less spry, but each spring, we still find some new way to enjoy being together.  Here’s my list.

IMG_0938

Stony Brook herring run, Brewester –  Every spring in late April/early May, thousands of herring return from the ocean to Stony Brook, where they push hard against the current to jump up a series of “steps” towards the Mill Pond, where they spawn, and begin the cycle anew.  Native Americans once harvested herring at this site as did the Mayflower descendants who settled in Brewster in the 1660s. During the “Brewster in Bloom” festival during the first weekend in May, the grist mill at the site is open for tours. (The mill is open on a regular basis in the summer, but by then, the herring are gone). Technically, the visit to the herring run is one of our must-repeat rituals, but it is a highlight of  every trip, and thus gets top billing on this list.

At this point, we have outgrown the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History , also in Brewster, but have enjoyed many visits there, looking at the exhibits, participating in activities and watching birds through the museum’s binoculars and spotting scopes.  The museum trails through woodland and across the sand dunes on a boardwalk are manageable for everyone from toddlers to slow but steady walkers.

We loved our rollicking ride in a Chevy Suburban over the steep dunes of the Province Lands with Art’s Dune Tours, out of Provincetown.

On the dune tour, my then 9-year-old son experienced the Province Land dunes as I once did: they were massive mountains of sand. As an adult returning forty years later, the dunes loom as large, either because they've shrunk, or I've grown. But still great fun to ride up and over these soft mountains.

On the dune tour, my then 9-year-old son experienced the Province Land dunes as I once did: they were massive mountains of sand. As an adult returning forty years after my childhood visit, the dunes didn’t loom as large, either because they’ve shrunk, or I’ve grown. But it was still great fun to ride up and over these soft mountains.

Spring is usually too cold to sunbathe and swim, but many opportunities exist to explore the Cape Cod National Seashore, which offers ranger talks and other activities year-round, with extra events added during the April school vacation week.  We have walked on trails at the Nauset Visitor Center in Eastham, listened to stories of shipwrecks and the collapse of a massive parking lot at Coast Guard Beach during the Blizzard of 78, and wondered if Pilgrim Spring was truly where the Mayflower passengers first found fresh water after their Atlantic voyage.

Also part of the National Seashore, the Cedar Swamp Trail (trailhead at the Marconi Station parking area in Wellfleet) gets its own shout-out because it is mysterious and beautiful, especially after a heavy rain, when walkers feel as though they are walking on water as they traverse the boardwalk through the dark swamp. The Seashore also offers talks about Marconi Station, where, in 1903, Guglielmo Marconi transmitted the first official wireless message across the ocean.

In Yarmouth, the Edward Gorey House, where the writer, artist, and designer lived for many years, is intriguing and delightful.

The Edward Gorey House in Yarmouth is full of whimsical sculptures, art work and odd things, and includes a scavenger hunt for kids.

The Edward Gorey House is full of whimsical sculptures, art work and odd things, and includes a scavenger hunt for kids.

Whale watching, Provincetown (aka Ptown)– Starting in early to mid-April, many species of whales, but especially humpback and the endangered right whales, hang out just off the tip of Cape Cod as they migrate into the Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary. Whale watch season begins then, with boats going out when the weather is at all reasonable (chilly, but not stormy).  On our April excursion with Dolphin Fleet Whale Watch, the temperatures climbed to the low 80s as we watched humpback whales  and right whales frolic just offshore of Race Point Beach.

Whale watch cruises run out of Provincetown starting in April, when Great Blues and Right Whales congregate off the tip of Cape Cod. You can also see their spouts, albeit just barely, from outer Cape beaches like Race Point. On our whale watch, we saw a live Right Whale lounging amidst the fishing boats in Ptown Harbor. It almost looked like a submarine surfacing.

Celebrating the start of whale watching season in Ptown. Watchers can also see whale spouts, albeit just barely, from outer Cape beaches like Race Point, where the Park Service often has rangers stationed with spotting scopes to share with visitors. On our whale watch, we saw a live Right Whale lounging amidst the fishing boats in P-town Harbor (to the left of this wharf). The whale almost looked like a submarine surfacing.

Pilgrim Monument and Museum is also a fun place to visit while in P-town, although it’s not an official member of this list, since my mother can no longer climb the many stairs to the windy top.

We explored the town cemetery during the ghost-hunting tour, hoping and fearing that a ghost might talk to us.

We explored the town cemetery during the ghost-hunting tour, hoping and fearing that a ghost might talk to us.

In Barnstable Village, the Ghost Hunters Tour, offered by the Cape and Islands Paranormal Research Society, gave the three of us plenty to talk about, especially when tour leader turned off the lights in the 1690-era old Barnstable jail (where visitors can spend the night on a CIPRS overnight adventure).  This tour included lots of interesting history and light walking, although my mom sat out the part where we walked around the dark cemetery with electro-magnetic detection devices and tried to commune with ghosts.

Seals, seals everywhere! The ever-changing sandy beaches of Monomoy Island, off Chatham, have become a seal mecca, with hundreds congregating there year round. Seal cruises are more of a summer activity, but Monomoy Island Excursions, out of Harwichport, run cruises on weekends after May 1 if they get a half-dozen or so passengers.

After May 1, X and other captains offer seal tours out of Harwich and Chatham to see the pack at Monomoy Island. But don't expect to see the Great White sharks that now frequent the area during the summer months -- our captain goes out twice daily in July and august and has never seen a Great White.

After May 1, seal cruises are offered from Harwichport and Chatham.. But don’t expect to see the Great White sharks that now frequent the area during the summer months — our captain told us that he goes out twice daily in July and August and has yet to seen a Great White.

Finally, the Cape offers numerous places for walks and short hikes on countless beaches and woodland trails; one of my favorites is the walk in the sands of Morris Island within the Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge in Chatham.

I’m not sure how much longer these trips to Cape Cod will continue as my son moves on to high school. What’s certain is that this ritual of spring has carved memories and created bonds. Maybe one day I’ll be a senior citizen with a grandson or daughter and, like the herring, will return to Stony Brook once again.

 

 

 

Posted in Family and Kids, Travels | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Three Hills for Mother’s Day

Posted on May 11, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

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.

IMG_3154

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.

IMG_3158

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!

IMG_3159

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. 

Posted in Family and Kids, Hiking, Maine places | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Snowmageddon 2015? Remembering the winter of 1716-17

Posted on February 23, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

By December, five feet of snow blanketed the ground. Although temperatures were not bitterly cold, the snow kept falling, with several storms in January. By early February, some drifts rose 25 feet. On February 18, the snow began falling again, continuing for four days, then ended, then began again, “being repeated so violently on February 24 that all communication between houses and farms ceased.”

Sound familiar? Welcome to coastal New England and the winter of 1716-17*.

Did snow really bury the coast in 1716-17? We have no “official” weather records from that winter, as  the National Weather Service wasn’t born until 1870. But even though government data is lacking, plenty of New Englanders were documenting and writing about the snows of 1716-1717. Sidney Perley’s classic 1891 book, Historic Storms of New England, does not fully cite sources, but he liberally quotes Puritan writers like Cotton Mather as well as 19th century town histories based on recollections and the oral tradition.

We're pretty snow in this year, but perhaps not so much as in February of 1717. Our Cape is a larger version of a typical New England house from the period, with some added details (like Georgian portico on front door) that don't quite fit. (Not to mention the power lines and garage).

We’re pretty snowed in this year, but perhaps not so much as in February of 1717. Our Cape is a larger version of a typical New England house from the period, with some added details (like the Georgian portico on front door) that don’t quite fit.

Then and now, people were fascinated by the weather, and it isn’t difficult to measure snow, albeit in 1717, weather nerds probably didn’t measure snowfall with the same precision and accuracy that scientists later developed. I know from other reading that 17th and 18th century writers often misjudged distance and height. For example, Darby Field, an otherwise obscure guy recognized for being the first person to climb Mount Washington, reported that the sloping mountain stood 12 to 14 miles high.  Similar miscalculations and exaggerations might have been true for the snow report.

But northern winters definitely were colder in the 18th century. Scientists know that for about 400 years, from approximately 1450-1850, the northern hemisphere went through a cooling period, when overall temperatures were cooler by one degree Celsius (or just under 2 degrees F). The so-called “Little Ice Age” was not a global phenomenon (as today’s warming is) but a regional one. Scientist aren’t exactly sure what caused it, but posit that increased volcanic activity, a decrease in sun spot activity, and a greater frequency of the El Nino current – or some combination of the three – may have caused the prolonged period of cooling.

Thus, in 1716-17, the snow piled up. Then, as now, many roofs needed constant raking to prevent ice dams from collecting pools of water that would eventually flood the house. The shoveling was endless, a daily chore of carving a new path to the outhouse and the barn. Nervous homeowners eyed their once abundant piles of firewood, hoping and praying that it would last through the winter as they constantly tended the fire in the not-very-efficient fireplace.  Everyone stayed close to the fire, because the rest of the house was icy cold.

After the week-long February storm, which Perley reports as dropping 10 to 15 feet of snow, the snow was so deep that it buried houses. In Medford, Massachusetts, a widow’s house disappeared beneath the snow, and was spotted only by a trail of smoke rising up from a drift. The trapped family had depleted its wood supply and the desperate mother was burning the furniture to keep them warm.

The 1664 Jackson House, the oldest surviving house in Portsmouth, NH, appears buried from this angle. Then as now, the snow provided insulation, until it began to melt and cause lots and lots of trouble.

The 1664 Jackson House, the oldest surviving house in Portsmouth, NH, appears buried from this angle. Then as now, the snow provided insulation, until it began to melt and cause lots and lots of trouble.

I began writing this piece as a four-day storm was wrapping up. Since then, I’ve lost track of the storms: how many, how extensive, how much snow.  In 50+ years of New England living, I have never seen so much snow.

At first, the snow was exciting (and in a way, it is still is): who doesn’t love the occasional snow day? Wandering in the silent white forest on snowshoes as the snow falls is a magical experience. The sledding and cross-country skiing will be great for at least another month. I don’t even mind the shoveling too much, as it provides an opportunity to exercise when the roads are too icy for walking and jogging.

But I can do without the snow piled on the roof that presents a constant chore for my husband, on a ladder, in bitterly cold temperatures. I’d say that as chores go, roof-raking is probably the most unpleasant. But not so unpleasant as water pouring through the roof due to an untended ice dam.

However, I’m so very grateful that I don’t have to shovel a path the outhouse after each storm, as homeowners had to do in the winter of 1716-17. Or use the outhouse when temperatures are many degrees below freezing.

I’m also grateful that my woodstove is a cozy and warm supplemental source of heat, and not THE source of heat that requires constant tending to prevent the house from becoming an icebox.

I’m grateful that no matter how much snow falls, I can turn on the faucet and water – cold or HOT – flows freely. I don’t have to break a coating of ice in a pail, or struggle through snow drifts to pump water or pull buckets from a well.

Also, thank you, Thomas Edison, for inventing the electric light bulb and starting a revolution, so that I can read, cook, socialize, and watch movies as the snow falls, rather than stumble around in a shadowy darkness lit by oil lamps and candles.

Thank-you, also, to whoever invented the snow plow, and to George Whitney, who plows our long driveway many a late night and in the wee hours of the morning.

I’m also grateful for all the snowy activities that make winter more than an annual feat of endurance, as it generally was back in 1717 (although I’m guessing kids still enjoyed a few rides on sled-like devices back then).  I’m also grateful for technological improvements upon ancient ideas: snowshoes with snug plastic bindings that stay on my feet; toe and hand warmers that keep my digits toasty for hours; and Neoprene and Sorrell boots, these latter a vast improvement upon the leather boots worn by New Englanders as they trudged through the snows of 1717.

Finally, even though I like winter, I’m grateful for the day in March – probably a little later than usual this year – when on a small patch of bare earth, surrounded by decaying piles of snow, a blue-white crocus will improbably push up through the soil.

Maybe then (but just maybe, because we know it can snow in April), we’ll be able to put away the shovels until it all begins again next year.

 

*Perley’s book does not explain if he was working with the dates of the old Julian Style Calendar, or the 11-days-forward dates of the Gregorian Calendar adopted by the British Parliament in 1751.  For more on the calendar, see my entry on Another Kind of Groundhog Day: the Candlemas Massacre.

Sources and Resources

“Little Ice Age.”  Encyclopedia Brittanica.  Good basic overview of the Little Ice Age.

For more on the Little Ice Age, see this New York Times Op-Ed piece by Geoffrey Parker, “Lessons From the Little Ice Age.”

Sidney Perley writes about New England’s worst weather and other natural calamities in Historic Storms of New England, first published in 1891, reprinted in 2001 by Commonwealth Editions. For more tales of grim winters, see his chapters on the storm of Februrary 24, 1722-23, and the winters of 1740-41 and 1747-48.

Oddly, the Great Blizzard of 1888 does not make the list, perhaps because it was so recent that it didn’t seem dramatic enough to write about. Ironically, in this winter of 2015 when the Boston subway system has come to a screeching halt at times, the Great Blizzard of 1888 spurred on the initial development of the city’s first subway system, which went on to provide vital transportation services in the wake of the famous Blizzard of 1978.

For a detailed account of Darby Field’s remarkable 1642 ascent up Mount Washington, see Laura and Guy Waterman’s Forest and Crag: A History of Hiking, Trail Blazing, and Adventure in the White Mountains. Boston, MA: Appalachian Mountain Club, 1989. Field did not write about his adventures, but reported on them to Maine deputy governor Thomas Gorges, who wrote about the ascent in a letter to Massachusetts governor John Winthrop.

Posted in Seacoast (mostly) History | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

A different kind of Groundhog Day: The Candlemas Massacre

Posted on January 30, 2015 by Dianne Fallon
IMG_2659

At the Old Burying Ground in York, this undated memorial for the Candlemas Massacre says that the victims were buried “near this spot.” The main attack took place on snowy winter morning on the north side of the York River, about a half-mile downhill.

On January 24, on the morning after Candlemas Day, 1692, the town of York, Maine was burned to the ground by a band of 150 Abenaki Indians.  Between 40 and 48 people were killed in the massacre, with an estimated 100 others taken captive and forced to march with their captors to Quebec.

The number of victims killed in the terror attack was nowhere near the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives on 9-11. But the attacks shared many elements. Both had religious as well as political dimensions. Distant orchestrators stoked the attackers with rhetoric and propaganda. Deaths were gruesome. Fire and smoke enhanced fear and panic. Finally, the emotional impact of the massacre was equal to if not greater than 9-11. If the enemy could mount an attack that destroyed an entire town so close to the center, what else might they do?

View of the York River towards the ocean, in falling snow. A snowstorm on January 25, 1692 helped to conceal the approach of the attackers.

View of the York River looking east. A snowstorm on January 25, 1692 helped to conceal the approach of the attackers as they approached homes strung out along the river. No bridges crossed the river then, and the Abenaki did not attempt  to attack homes on the southern side. Other villages of York, such as Scotland and Cape Neddick, also were attacked, but most documentary evidence about the attack concerns the main village (which was the ] focus of the massacre).

According to Christian tradition, Candlemas Day celebrates the day that Jesus, 40 days after his birth, was delivered to the temple by his thankful parents. Like many Christian celebrations, Candlemas Day was built upon the pre-Christian traditions; in this case, the Feast of Light, which celebrated the increased strength of the light and occurred mid-way between the winter solstice and spring equinox. Candlemas Day was the forerunner today’s secular Groundhog Day, which this proverb (and many others) suggests:

If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,

Winter will take another flight;

If Candlemas Day be foul and rain,

Winter is gone and won’t come again.

On Candlemas Day, 1692, a portion of York’s 500 residents (counting outlying villages) likely spent part of the day in the village’s Congregational Church, where the town’s first minister, Reverend Shubael Dummer, might have offered a sermon noting parallels between the presentation of the baby Jesus and the survival of village babies born that winter. We do not know exactly what the minister preached on that Candlemas Day, but according to one source, (cited in Banks) his sermon on the “Sabbath next” before the attack included a prophetic warning to “beware of the enemy,” warningr the Congregation of the consequences if their vigilance abated, as did that of the “careless inhabitants of Laish, preceding the invasion of their land by the Danites, their foes.”  Reverend Dummer was probably speaking allegorically  — church attendance had declined by the 1690s and people had to be reminded that Satan was still lurking out there —  but I wonder if the survivors, after the attack, remembered his words.

mcintire-garrison

Although built in 1707, 15 years after the Candlemas Massacre, the surviving McIntire Garrison, sitting above the York River on Route 91 in York, is similar to the garrisons where some residents took shelter (Library of Congress photo, taken in 1936). The Garrison, now restored, is easy to spot on Route 91 heading towards South Berwick.

York had prospered in the 15 or so years since the conclusion of King Philips War.  Since then relations between the Indians and the English had been fairly settled, but  up north, goaded by the Catholic-Protestant religious divide and by distant European political events, the French began pouring gas on the fire.

In June of 1691, the Abenaki had attacked the village of Wells, about 11 miles away, but the residents had successfully taken shelter and fought off the attackers in a garrison house.  In York, several residents had built garrison houses to which residents could retreat in the event of an Indian attack, but nobody believed that an attack was imminent. No guard was posted.

Samuel Drake’s account of the massacre notes that snow was falling heavily at dawn. Even so, people were out visiting. York was a small town, but not isolated. Thanks to the Piscataqua River highway, travel between York, Kittery and Portsmouth was not difficult (at least by 17th century standards). Mrs. and Mrs. Theodore Atkinson, with Francis Tucker of Portsmouth, were at Moulton’s Tavern when gunshots pierced the quiet morning and the Abenakis descended upon the village spread out along the river.

The warriors began to systematically break into every home, kill the inhabitants inside, and then set fire to the house. At some point, the killing stopped, and, as Drake observes, “it would seem as if the savages themselves grew weary of the bloodshed.” With the exception of four garrison houses where some managed to take shelter, all of the 18 or 19 houses on the north side of the York River were burned.

Reverend Dummer was shot as he attempted to escape on his horse; he fell onto his doorstep, was stripped naked, and mutilated. His wife Lydia was taken captive along with their young son.

The Candlemas Massacre is remembered today with a mixture of legend and documentation. At the time, the Massacre was the biggest terror attack ever in early New England.  Everyone was talking and writing about it, so many accounts exist of what happened

Although the colonial government would not negotiate for the release of hostages, it didn’t stop individuals from ransoming captives. Funds were raised, hostages redeemed. Some, like Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Atkinson, returned to their comfortable home in Portsmouth. Many became refugees, taking shelter in Salem, Massachusetts and other larger towns. Others never returned, either because they died on the winter march, or, in the case of children, were adopted by Indian families.

Another raid on Wells followed that June. The frontier was abandoned and people took refuge in what felt like safer places.  But they must have been afraid — if York could burn, was any town truly safe?

Was the Candlemas Massacre terrorism, or a battle in a territorial war?  Describing the massacre as terrorism doesn’t negate the reality that the Abenaki had legitimate grievances.  English settlements had multiplied along the Maine coast and into the interior of northern New England, threatening their homeland and survival.  The colonials, in turn, carried out equally brutal counter-attacks on the Abenaki.

From the Abenaki perspective, I’m sure the Candlemas Massacre was a territorial war, a need to strike hard and dramatically to scare their enemies straight. For the victims, the massacre was pure terror.

After several years, people began to rebuild, on higher ground above the river. A new minister, Reverend Samuel Moody, arrived in 1698, his coming a symbol of the town’s rebirth.  Once again, the villagers began to look for the light.

Notes and resources:

A note on dates: The date of the Massacre is sometimes presented as January 24 and sometimes as January 25, (1691-92), on the morning after Candlemas Day, using the old Julian Style calendar. The Gregorian Calendar, adopted in 1751 by an Act of Parliament, pushed the calendar ahead by 11 days (those days being pulled from time in September 1752), so many historians suggest that the Massacre happened on February 5, by today’s calendar. Adding to the confusion is that the same Calendar Act changed the legal start of the New Year from March 25 to January 1. Today, Candlemas Day is celebrated on February 2, 40 days after Christmas.

For more details and sources related to the massacre, see Charles Edward Banks’s History of York, Maine, successively known as Bristol (1632), Agamentious (1641), Gorgeana (1642), and York (1652). With contributions on topography and land titles by Angevine W. Gowen. Sketches by the author. Baltimore, Regional Publishing Company, 1967 reprint of first edition: Charles E Banks, Boston, 1931 [Vol.1], Chapter XXV (287-299). Banks’s account on the massacre synthesizes multiple English and French sources such as letters and diaries.

19th century historian Samuel Drake provides an account of the Massacre in his 1897 book, “The Border Wars of New England, Commonly Called King William’s and Queen Anne’s Wars.”

Emerson W. Baker and James Kences explore the connections between the Candlemas Massacre and the Salem Witchcraft outbreak in their article, Maine, Indian Land Speculation, and the Essex County Witchcraft Outbreak of 1692 Maine History, volume 40, number 3, Fall 2001 (pp. 159-189).

The article serves as the basis for one of the chapter’s in Baker 2014 book, A Storm of Witchcraft: The Salem Trials and the American Experience, which goes into greater detail about connections between the Salem witchcraft outbreak and survivors from the Candlemas Massacre and other Indian raids during King William’s War. Great book – not a fast read, but interesting and very detailed.

Posted in Maine places, Seacoast (mostly) History | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments

King Pine, the Little Mountain That Could

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Dianne Fallon
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.

Posted in Family and Kids, Mountains | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bretton Woods: birches, beautiful snow, and bargains

Posted on January 9, 2015 by Dianne Fallon

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

Posted in Family and Kids, Mountains, Skiing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments