Mountain spring: hike to North Doublehead

Mountains in spring, breath
clean oxygen. Listen:  in
the spruce, loving birds.

I’ve been working with my students on form poems, including haiku. Thus, I attempt to describe a recent hike with a combination of haiku, photos and text. Indulge me.

Taking a break on the trail up North Doublehead. The wide trail was built by the Saco Conservation Corps in 1934 as a backcountry ski trail, and makes for a great short hike in spring, summer and fall, about two miles to the summit.

Beckoning trails lead
to destinations but feel
like mystery paths.

The Ski Trail never gets very steep, and I’ve almost convinced myself that I could ski it next winter, in perfect conditions. But I’m sure it gets bumped up with ditches and mogul from avid backcountry skiers.

Long ago, young men
dripped sweat, hauling rocks and logs
to build a cabin.

The cabin on North Doublehead, popular with winter skiers and youth groups, is locked but can be reserved through the Forest Service. We discovered some lunch rocks with a great view of snow-covered Mount Washington.

The cabin was built by the CCC during the Depression and has been renovated several times, but still maintains many old features, like the stone foundation and chimney covered with a slab of rock. The cabin includes two small bunk rooms and a small community area with a wood stove.

On the ridge, young trees
erase old scars, wilding land
buzzing saws stripped bare.

Doublehead offers several looping options. At this junction, we had to decide whether to continue on for a longer hike to South Doublehead, and then double-back (or descend from South D. on another trail that exited about a half-mile from the car).  We opted to wait on South Doublehead for another day. This turned out to a good decision as the route down the Old Path was steep and icy, and required care and our full attention, even with micro spikes.

Mountains in spring: two
worlds, the barren forest plus
forgotten winter.

After stepping down the sometimes treacherous “Old Path” trail, we stepped into spring on the lower half of the mountain. The Old Path is fine for experienced hikers but I do not recommend taking children on this piece of the journey in spring. Out and back on the Ski Trail is the easiest route.

From the back porch, spring
sunsets on distant mountains
until trees unfurl.

At the day’s end, a view through the trees to the mountains and the sunset.

Note:

As of Friday, April 24, the White Mountain National Forest closed down many popular trailheads to try to spread out hikers prevent the spread of coronavirus, but many lesser-known trails remain open. I feel grateful that I’ve been able to do some hiking this spring.  The adventure described here met the guidelines for New Hampshire’s stay-at-home order.

Sources and resources
“Doublehead Mountain, CCC Ski Trails, New Hampshire.” NewEnglandSkiHistory.com

Rangeley Days Redux: Moose, mountains, and memories

Rangeley, Maine – Our first day at the lake was windy and mostly gray, a good one for moose hunting.  We don’t always get our moose, but with the right timing and luck, we’d bagged moose last year and the year before. Could we score the hat trick?

Moose hunting in Rangeley requires strategy and preparation. First, timing. Dawn and dusk work best. Second, location: Route 16, heading towards Stratton, locally known as Moose Alley. Third, preparedness: cameras out, at the ready, not packed away in a backpack or purse.

The Coplin Dinner House offers farm-to-table dining and pub grub, in a renovated farmhouse just south of Stratton, Maine.

To carry out our plan, we drove up Route 16 and turned south in Stratton, on to Route 27, for a 6 p.m. dinner reservation at the Coplin Dinner House, a recent addition to local dining scene. The food was excellent, especially the roasted Brussel sprouts. A good meal prepared by someone else is one of my favorite gifts. Also, it makes me happy to see a young couple making it in rural Maine by establishing a successful destination restaurant in the middle of nowhere.

On the way home, as dusk settled in, we stopped in at the Town of Stratton public works garage, checking the muddy wetlands on both sides of the road. Legend has it that moose flock to these wetlands for the runoff from the town’s salt piles. However, over 15 years of looking, I have never seen a moose here. And, once again, no moose.

We continued down Route 16, as one set of passengers scanned right and the other  scanned left into the grassy meadows and dark stands of spruce, while also keeping an eye out for pulled-over vehicles, a sure sign of moose. We drove and drove, losing hope. But then, a few miles outside of Rangeley, we hit the jackpot: a car pulled over on the  right!

Mother moose and her calf, on Route 16, aka “Moose Alley,” between Rangeley and Stratton, Maine.

Spotting one moose makes me happy.  A lengthy roadside visit with a mother moose and her calf overfilled my cup of gratitude. Our second day in Rangeley, and already the week was pretty much made. Who cares if the forecast calls for a week of wind and rain? I have books.

Just outside of Oquossoc village, the fire tower atop Bald Mountain offers views of Rangeley and Mooselookmeguntic Lakes, and endless mountains. Most hikers climb 1.3 mile trail off Bald Mountain Road, but an alternate trail from Route 4 offers a slightly longer hike (connecting with the main trail).

The rain isn’t constant, and we find a window to squeeze in a hike to Bald Mountain, just across the lake.  A dozen years ago, when we were coaxing five-year-olds up the trail, Bald Mountain seemed like a major hike.  But now, climbing Bald is a warm-up for more ambitious adventures.  Other nearby favorites include Tumbledown Mountain and Aziscohos Mountain (see link at the bottom of the post), but I am always on the lookout for a new destination.

Blueberry Mountain (2,962 feet), just outside of Weld, seemed like the right fit for our group’s mix of hiking experience: a 4.4 mile round-trip to an open summit.  On Wednesday, we enjoyed an excellent hike under gray skies, including a walk on open granite as we neared the summit. I love the feeling of freedom I experience on a mountaintop.

Atop the summit of Blueberry Mountain in Weld, and watching the clouds roll in over Jackson and Tumbledown Mountains. Blueberry Mountain is located off Route 142, about a half-hour from downtown Rangeley.

Blueberry Mountain had its fair share of blueberries, but nothing like the bonanza of blueberries at the Wilhelm Reich Museum property, where the public is welcome to pick. The blueberry crop varies from year to year; this harvest was exceptional.  My freezer is full of blueberry anti-oxidants and I am ready for Thanksgiving, and my annual contribution of Rangeley wild blueberry pie. Baking that pie the day before Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holiday rituals.

My mother, now age 83, always joins us for the blueberry picking, but she can’t climb mountains. That’s why I love Quill Hill, in Dallas Plantation, a few miles outside of Rangeley (and off Route 16). A local contractor has built an elegant four-mile dirt road to the Quill Hill summit so that everyone can enjoy the spectacular 360 degree views. Visiting Quill Hill requires a $10 admission fee, but this hill is a labor of love, not profit.  Taking my mom to this sunset view makes me happy.

Sunset at 2,848-foot Quill Hill, where visitors enjoy views of the Rangeley Lakes, Western Maine mountains, and Flagstaff Lake.

We visited Quill Hill on our last night in Rangeley, so the evening there was bittersweet.  A beautiful evening, magnificent colors — but also a reminder that our time in Rangeley –and everywhere — is fleeting.

I need to remember it all.  The baby loon with its mother in Hunter Cove.  Sunny (and windy) afternoons on the dock.  Reading on the porch. Gathering around the campfire, as kids roasted marshmallows and loon calls echoed across the lake. On Saturday morning, I packed up these memories along with dirty laundry and leftover food.  After packing the car, I took one last set of photos,  and we hit the road, filled up until next summer.

From the dock, we can see the sun sets over Bald Mountain.

Sources and resources:

For a detailed description of the trail to Blueberry Mountain, see the excellent greatly expanded 2018 edition of the Maine Mountain Guide edited by Cary Kish. (Also, note that there is another Blueberry Mountain in Maine, in Evans Notch.

For more reading on Rangeley, see my post, “Rangeley days, now far away.”

For more info on Tumbledown, Aziscohos, and other great family hikes, see my post, “Round-up: Five great family hikes in Maine” (in which I also happen to discuss the Evans Notch Blueberry Mountain).

Caps and castles on Mount Jefferson

IMG_4775On Friday, prospects for a hike up Mount Jefferson looked gloomy. The higher summits forecast called for steady 50 mph winds, with hurricane force gusts, and winter temperatures in New Hampshire’s Presidential Range, as one weather system collided with another.

But by Monday, July 4, the winds had settled down, and no storms clouded the radar. A perfect day for climbing 5,716-foot Mount Jefferson.

The 2.5 mile Caps Ridge Trail promised a short but challenging hike to the summit, with hikers surmounting three rocky outcrops known as the Caps before continuing up the rocky slope to the Jefferson plateau. I knew the hike wouldn’t be a piece of cake, but we climbed up and over the three caps fairly quickly. Aside from the first cap, which begins with a tricky steep  slab of granite, the three caps were fun to climb and not as difficult as I expected.

First views of Mount Washington on the Caps Ridge Trail. Great views to the west as well, of Bondcliff and the tip of Mount Lafayette.

First views of Mount Washington on the Caps Ridge Trail. Great views to the west as well, of Bondcliff and its neighbors, and the tip of Mount Lafayette.

As we ate lunch atop the third cap, out of the summit wind but high enough to bask in the views of open alpine terrain and Mount Washington, we consulted the pages I’d copied from my guidebook, Smith and Dickerman’s The 4000-Footers of the White Mountains.

Climbing up the Caps looks scarier than it is. My son is a teen and now a stronger hiker than me, but younger hikers can do this route as long as parents are prepared to turn back if weather deteriorates. I hope it goes without saying that I wouldn't recommend the Caps as a first hike for younger kids. But once they get some experience....

Climbing up the Caps looks scarier than it is. My son is a teen and now a stronger hiker than me, but younger hikers can do this route as long as parents are prepared to turn back if weather deteriorates. I hope it goes without saying that I wouldn’t recommend the Caps as a first hike for younger kids. But once they get some experience….

We felt energized and the day was young. What else could we do?

In the distance, about a mile away as the crow flies, the rock heaps of Castellated Ridge, known as the Castles, intrigued us.  We consulted my Smith and Dickerman pages, which described a possible loop from the Jefferson summit down to the Castles, then across the lower mountain on the Link Trail back to the Caps Ridge Trail.

The language was slightly intimidating:  the Link Trail was “extremely rough and tiring, making for slow going.”  But we had the entire afternoon on a beautiful summer day. Hiking above treeline on the Castle Trail for a 1.5 miles down to the Castles would be amazing.  When again would we have this perfect combination of weather, time, and opportunity? And how hard could the hike be, really, given that the hike up the Caps had seemed fairly easy (at least by White Mountain standards)?

So after a snack at atop the tallest of the three peaklets at Jefferson’s summit, we began to pick our way down the Castle Trail. “Trail” is a bit of a misnomer, as it suggests a path, while the Castle Trail is mainly a cairn-marked route across a jumble of lichen-covered rocks.  But the lichen glistened green and the wide open skies made for a pleasant if nerve wracking traverse down the slope of Jefferson towards the Castles.

On the Castle Trail, and not another hiker in sight.

On the Castle Trail, and not another hiker in sight.

My teenage son scrambled ahead of us and I worried about a twisted ankle or full-on header (coming close to both myself), but I had to let go of those worries, assume all would be fine, and get online in the coming week to buy a New Hampshire HikeSafe family card. (Later, my son casually mentioned that he thought he had twisted ankle several times, but had shaken off the stumbles and continued).

On July 4, I expected crowds up high, but the mountains were open and empty, perhaps because of the weekend’s harsh weather. After we left the Jefferson summit, we didn’t see another hiker until we arrived back at the parking lot at Jefferson Notch Road. I suspect that the Castle Trail is not heavily used, because if it was, twisted knees, broken ankles, and hypothermia would keep New Hampshire’s search and rescue teams even busier than they already are. (Although, sadly, this past February, a search and rescue team had to carry out the body of a 54-year-old man who froze to death in Castle Ravine, just below the Castles).

Hiking down towards the Castles, I wondered if I had misread Smith and Dickerman’s language describing the 1.7 mile Link Trail that would take us back to the Caps Ridge Trail. Surely, “rough and tiring” combined with “slow going” had referred to the treacherous footing of Castle Trail, not the upcoming Link Trail.  Or maybe the writers had gotten it wrong?

The Link Trail crossed the mountain through the trees and couldn’t be that hard.  The thought of an easier trail ahead kept up my spirits as we continued to climb the Castles, shimmying down steep pitches and between rocks slabs (ironically, one reason we chose this trail was the opportunity to avoid hiking down the Caps).

Hiking down to the Castles, which look over the lightly-traveled Castle Ravine.

Hiking down to the Castles, which looks over the lightly traveled Castle Ravine.  The hike also  offers a continuous view of Mount Adams and the barren terrain around it.

After a half-mile, we came to the link with the Cornice Trail, another rough trail that leads back to the Caps. Still a mile to go to get to the Link Trail. Sigh.

In the distance, the three Caps looked like little bumps on the mountain.  Below us, the Castles seemed to rise from Tolkien’s Middle Earth.

A break atop the last section of the Castles.

A break atop one of the Castle ramparts, not far from the junction with the Link Trail.

Finally, we reached the Link Trail, which HAD to be easier than the descent from the peak to the Castles. But it wasn’t.

My perspective was likely distorted by fatigue and expectations, but the challenge continued, unabated. Up and over rocks, across streams, including one that plunged over granite at a nearly perpendicular angle off the mountain (but easily crossed at a level spot a few steps up the trail), we trudged up and down through the woods, on a mossy path that served as a thin carpet over Jefferson’s rocks.

Finally, after one last uphill, we returned to the Caps Ridge Trail, much later in the day than we had planned (so much for the leisurely swim in the river, followed by a relaxing dinner, and a daylight ride home). Ours wasn’t the last car to leave the parking lot – maybe the third to last – and plenty of daylight still remained, but we definitely felt like we had hiked a long, long day, even though the total distance covered was only 6.7 miles (yes, less than seven miles).

My husband, son and I were all exhausted, but being a glass-half-full kind of person, I was glad we’d explored the Castles, both for the beauty and isolation of the open alpine terrain and for the lessons learned.

Namely, just because trails connect and offer options other than out-and-back doesn’t mean they are necessarily viable “loop trails.”

Of course, the experience of a hike depends a lot on expectations. We expected the Caps Ridge Trail to be an arduous scramble up slippery rocks. It was easier than expected.  For the Castles, the reverse was true.

Hikers who want to experience the spectacular landscape of the Castles and undertake the hike expecting a long day of slow going will be rewarded great views in a lightly visited side of the Presidentials. I cursed myself many times on the Link Trail for pursuing this route, but I have no regrets–even though I won’t do it a second time.

Sources and resources

The Caps Ridge Trail begins at the height of the land on Jefferson Notch Road, the highest road in New Hampshire (closed in winter). The turn to the Notch Road is 3.5 miles down the Cog Railway Road, off Route 302 and near Bretton Woods Ski Resort.

A variety of other trails lead to the Castles from various other nearby locations, although if you study the map, you’ll see that all appear to be equally arduous. On NortheastHikes.com, Daren Worcester describes the Castle Trail hike to Jefferson’s summit from its origin on Route 2.

For more information on the February 2016 death of hiker Timothy Hallock, whose frozen body was found by other hikers, see accounts in the Manchester Union Leader and from WMUR TV.

Read more of my posts about 4K hikes at my Hiking page.

 

 

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

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.

Intersecting slopes on Mount Chocorua, New Hampshire

IMG_0823

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

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

My son paused to let her pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kid is beating the pants off of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resources

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

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

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

Art amidst the mills of North Adams

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).

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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.

Three blogs for hitting the trails

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.

Bushwhacking on Mount Tecumseh

Fog obscured big views on the day we hiked Mount Tecumseh, but the forest was lush and green. Note the well-beaten highly visible path (photo by K. Keyser).

Fog obscured big views on the day we hiked Mount Tecumseh, but the forest was lush and green. Note the well-beaten highly visible path (photo by K. Keyser).

Impossible as it may seem, within a few minutes of our hike up Mount Tecumseh in Waterville Valley, my friend and I have lost the trail, and now find ourselves bushwhacking through a wet humid forest.

Technically we are not lost, because we know where we are – hiking along or at least within hearing range of Tecumseh Brook. But I know that the trail travels for a solid mile along the brook, an easy distance to travel on a trail, but one which could take a couple of hours if we cover it by picking our way up the brook, or by hiking on its steep bank, slipping over, under and around blowdowns, and pushing through beech saplings and hobblebush.

After an hour of mauling our way through the forest, we are soaked, even though it is not raining. I suggest that we angle upwards, on the south side of the brook, until we reach the open space of the ski trail cut on the ridge above us. If we never find the trail, we can always hike up the ski slope which is part of the Waterville Valley ski resort.

After a few additional minutes of hiking uphill, we stumble out of the woods onto the trail, a well-beaten, well-travelled trail which shortly leads us to a rock slab with a view of the Valley.  Compared to bushwhacking in a humid forest, the rest of the hike is a breeze by White Mountain standards, as it flattens out on the ridge before climbing one last steep pitch to the summit cone.

Rock pile that officially establishes the summit at Mount Tecumseh. The camera didn't pick up the buzzing black flies (photo by K. Keyser).

Rock pile that officially establishes the summit at Mount Tecumseh. The camera didn’t pick up the buzzing black flies (photo by K. Keyser).

Mount Tecumseh is the shortest of the tallest mountains in New Hampshire, a 4,000-footer but just by three feet (4,003 feet).  However, what the mountain lacks in height, it makes up for in views, at least theoretically.  Although Tecumseh is mostly a wooded summit, from various vantage points on the summit and the ridge just below, hikers can see up to 36 other 4,000-footers.  On this muggy day, however, our view is limited to a carpet of soft green trees vaguely visible through a dense cloud of fog.  On this Sunday in late June, black flies still buzz. Slapping at flies between bites, we quickly eat our lunch.

Waterville Valley is one of a handful of mountain valleys in New England that could be in Switzerland, albeit with smaller less craggy peaks.  The Valley is set apart from the rest of the world, with the mountains forming a lofty wall around a ten-mile wide swath of valley floor. Although the seasonal Tripoli Road climbs up from the Valley over the mountains to Lincoln, the 13-mile drive on Route x along the Mad River from I-93 is the only road up into the Valley and the road ends where the mountains begin.

Even though Waterville Valley is a well-known ski destination, for me, finding a mini-village of hotels, shops and restaurants here always feels like discovering a secret self-contained world.  Town Square is more of a destination than a village, but the Valley does have a community of 247 year-round residents, including a K-8 elementary school with 40 or so kids.

This sense of being surrounded by mountains made Waterville Valley an early destination for mountain tourists.  The Valley was the first place in the White Mountains where hikers built trails, beginning in the 1850s, when the mountain tourist boom was first heating up. Later, in the 1930s, some of the first ski trails in New England were cut in these woods, including the Tecumseh Ski Trail, which became the site of a now-discontinued annual race.

However, although the Valley was revered by a devoted group of cottage owners, hikers, and hard-core skiiers, it remained an off-the-beaten path destination until the 1960s, when former Olympian Tom Corcoran bought up much of the 600 or so acres of private land in the Valley and began the still-continuing process of developing Waterville Valley as a full-service ski resort and vacation destination. (Mount Tecumseh itself, along with all of the surrounding mountains, is part of White Mountain National Forest). After Corcoran sold the resort in 1994, Waterville Valley cycled through several corporate owners, until it was purchased in 2010 by local investors, including John Sununu.

Mount Tecumseh is named for a Shawnee chief who achieved fame far from New Hampshire in the Ohio River Valley.  How the mountain retained Tecumseh’s name is a bit of a mystery.  A map of the White Mountains published in 1860 labeled it as Tecumseh.  Some sources attribute the name to E.J. Young, a Campton, N.H. photographer, who also may have named neighboring Mount Osceola (another 4,000-footer), for a Seminole chief who also never came within a thousand miles of New Hampshire.

From the summit of Tecumseh, hikers can continue on the Sosman Trail, which travels to White Peak at the top of the ski area, and then either descend down the grassy ski slopes, or backtrack.  The Tecumseh Trail itself traverses the ridge and ends at the height of land on Tripoli Road (an option with two cars but not as a loop).  Because of our earlier debacle in the woods – and given the lack of views — we elect to backtrack rather than crash down the unmarked but fairly obvious downhill ski trail.

Later, on the final leg of the hike, we can’t fathom how we lost the trail, given how well-marked it is, how obviously trail-ish.  The experience is a good reminder as to how easy it is to make mistakes in the woods, to miss turns, or get turned around, even on well-travelled trails, and why hikers should always carry a map and compass or GPS.

Although I was without the family on this adventure, Mount Tecumseh is a good family hike, not too long or too hard, with the added bonus of giving kids the psychological boost of summiting a 4,000-footer. Of course, they might get the wrong idea about 4,000-footers, i.e. that such hikes are fairly easy and not too long.  Hopefully they will forget about easy and short if the next hike is steep and long.  Hopefully I will too.

Resources

The Waterville Valley Athletic and Improvement Society, established in 1888, offers a wealth of information on hiking trails in WV, along with information on a variety of other activities, including croquet.

Sources

About Waterville Valley.  Town of Waterville Valley website. More on the history of Waterville Valley.

Goodrich, Nathaniel L. The Waterville Valley: A Story of a Resort in the White Mountains. Lunenburg, Vermont: The North Country Press, 1952.  Short book about the history of the valley, including information about the first settlers, the early tourism industry, the logging industry, and how the Valley ended up becoming part of the White Mountain National Forest.  I checked this book out of the Bowdoin College library (via our interload system) and I believe I am probably the first reader of this particular copy. It’s hard to fathom how much of the White Mountains was reduced to slash during the peak of the logging era in the early 20th century.

Smith, Steven D. and Mike Dickerman.  The 4,000-Footers of the White Mountains: A Guide and History. Littleton, NH: Bondcliff Books, 2001

Waterville Valley Resort. Waterville Valley, New Hampshire.  New England Ski History website.

If you enjoy this 4,000-footer trip report, check out some of my other posts:

The Agony and Ecstasy of Climbing Four Thousand Footers: Mounts Willey, Field, and Tom

Brutal Beauty on Beaver Brook: Mount Moosilauke

On My Own on the Osceolas with Captain Samuel Willard

Moriah, my Moriah: Why Did I Wait So Long to Climb Thee?

Refuge in the sands

As all hell broke loose that Friday in Boston, the beach at Morris Island stretched for miles, empty and unpeopled, like the city in lockdown.   Instead of fear, the beach inspired tranquility and an almost medically-induced sense of relief at being here, away from the events we had watched unfold on the morning news.   The sand stretched for a couple of miles around the spit as a stiff breeze blew in from the Atlantic.  Although he was speaking of a different outer beach, the scene called to mind Henry Thoreau’s observation about the Cape, “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.”

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The sands of Morris Island in Chatham, Massachusetts, stretch for a couple of miles around a spit.

My mother, my son and I had come to Morris Island at the Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge in Chatham on this April morning to look for signs of the hundreds of seals that gather on Monomoy Island, but the seals remained out of sight, on the Atlantic-facing side of the Island.

But I was not disappointed by the lack of seals, even if seals are the #1 animal on my son’s “top ten” list of animals.  The sky was vast and beach rolled out in an endless carpet of sand.  We could see footprints in the sandy trail we followed, but didn’t see any people until we had circled around to where the mile-plus Morris Island trail reaches the steep set of stairs which visitors descend to reach the beach.

common eider

This is an uncredited photo I found on the Internet. The common eider we saw floating on the pond but too far away for a good photo.

In Salt Marsh Pond, a not-so-common common eider duck, visiting from the Arctic, rested on the surface.  April’s lack of foliage, combined with the ocean and the sand, made the sky bigger.

These sands on Morris Island, at the sharpest edge of Cape Cod’s elbow, are my discovery on this spring visit.  I’m sure the beach is much busier in the summer, but today this wildlife refuge feels a world apart, especially on this day of infamy.

On the bluffs above the beach, houses that could be mistaken for large hotels look out over the same view that we see.  As we walk along the beach below the bluffs, we notice the fresh erosion from storms this past winter, especially the February’s Nor’easter that arrived almost exactly 35 years to the day of the Blizzard of 1978, a storm that divided Monomoy Island into the North and South Islands.

This February, the surging ocean breached Chatham’s South Beach, creating new currents that will impact this area over time.  Monomoy Island once had been a peninsula, but a storm washed out the isthmus back in the 50s, and the island has been inaccessible (except by boat) since the 1950s.  I tell my son that one day, when he comes back to Morris Island, those homes will be gone.  Not next year, or the year after, but some day in his lifetime, the ocean is going to carve new landscapes in these shifting sands and bluffs.

In the summer months, visitors can take a small ferry 0ver to the now-unpopulated Monomoy Islands to hike the dunes and bask in the sand and try to spot the great white sharks that now appear every summer seeking their seal prey.  Maybe we’ll come back on a summer day to make that trip and see those seals.  I seldom visit Cape Cod during the crowds of summer, but for the seals, I might consider it.

Few visitors understand that the primary purpose of federal wildlife refuges is to protect wildlife and wildlife habitat.  National parks exist for people to enjoy and to protect, but refuges exist for animals.  Under the refuge law, at Morris Island, the needs of wildlife trump human recreation.  Hiking trails here are a privilege granted rather than a right guaranteed. On this gray day packed with ugly news bulletins created by the actions of other humans, I am grateful for the privilege of sharing this refuge with the birds and the seals.

Resources and information

For more on the history of Monomoy Island, especially the lighthouse at Monomoy Point, see Monomoy Point Lighthouse.  Apparently you can arrange to stay at the Lighthouse through the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History in Brewster, MA.

For more on Chatham, see MyChatham.Com, with links to information about Chatham, its beaches, its history and the Monomoy Island Wildlife Refuge.

Winter dreams of summer days on Mount Washburn

The official summit, 10,243 feet.

The official summit, 10,243 feet.

On this cold winter afternoon in Maine, I am dreaming about summer days on Mount Washburn. The temperature is even colder today at Mount Washburn, but this past August, we slathered on sun screen and wore shorts and t-shirts when we hiked the 10,243-foot mountain. Our daypacks were stuffed with fleece and windbreakers, because we knew that no matter what time of year, it’s always much colder at the summit of Mount Washburn because of the wind that blows across the Washburn Range. Even with the wind, or maybe because of it, the mountain is still the most popular hike in Yellowstone National Park.

But popular doesn’t mean crowded, at least not by eastern standards. In the summer, hikers will always encounter other hikers on the trails or at the summit, but not hundreds of them — not the crowds at Mount Washington or even at the summit Maine’s Mount Katahdhin.

This past August (2012), I travelled to Wyoming with my family for a reunion with my old haunts at Yellowstone, where I had worked one summer almost 30 years ago, at an ice cream stand with a view of Old Faithful.

Although not the longest, most remote or most adventuresome, my hike up Mount Washburn in June 1984 was my favorite of that season. The blue sky that morning was crystal clear and the green slopes of the mountain blossomed with mountain lupine and other wildflowers. I don’t remember if we saw any of the bighorn sheep rumored to hang out on the mountain’s slopes, but I do remember the feeling of freedom I felt on my first hike through wide open mountain meadows, with lots of sky and big views, so different from the hiking I had known in the mountains of New England.

Mount Washburn is named for Henry Washburn, one of the leaders of the Washburn-Langford-Doane Expedition of 1870, organized to find out once and for all if fantastical tales told by trappers and mountain men about the Yellowstone region were true. Rivers that poured boiling water? Spouts of water erupting 200 feet in the air? Deep blue pools in which a man could cook a fish or lose his life if he decided to take a bath? Such phenomena could not possibly exist, but perhaps gold or other valuable resources might be found in the rivers and mountains of Yellowstone.

The expedition soon learned that “The Wonders of Yellowstone” (the Nathaniel Langford article published afterwards in Scribners magazine) did exist and that mountain man Jim Bridger (and others) had not exaggerated in telling his tales. In this land of boiling mud cauldrons, smoke and sulphur, climbing a mountain might have seemed an arduous but necessary task, but when Lieutenant Gustavus Doane completed the climb on August 29, 1870, the beauty of what he saw was almost impossible to capture with language (although he did manage to bang out 500 or so words when he wrote about the trip in official report):

William Henry Jackson photo of Mount Washburn, probably taken during the Hayden Expedition of 1872, which included photographer Jackson and painter Charles Moran. The visual images created by Jackson and Moran were instrumental in persuading Congress to create Yellowstone National Park. (Library of Congress photo in the public domain).

William Henry Jackson photo of Mount Washburn, probably taken during the Hayden Expedition of 1872, which included photographer Jackson and painter Charles Moran. The visual images created by Jackson and Moran were instrumental in persuading Congress to create Yellowstone National Park. (Library of Congress photo in the public domain).

“The view from the summit, “ Doane noted, “is beyond all adequate description. Looking northward from the base of the mountain the great plateau stretches away to the front and left with its innumerable groves and sparkling waters, a variegated landscape of surpassing beauty, bounded on its extreme verge by the cañons of the Yellowstone. The pure atmosphere of this lofty region causes every outline of tree, rock or lakelet to be visible with wonderful distinctness.….The mind struggles and then falls back upon itself despairing in the effort to grasp by a single thought the idea of its immensity.”

The experience of hiking up Mount Washburn, I learned this summer, hasn’t changed all that much in spirit, either my from 1984 trek or from Doane’s 1870 adventure. Hikers can ascend, as we did, from the 2.8 mile trail that ascends from the Chittenden Road, or from the three-mile trail that begins at the Dunraven Pass picnic area.

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The trail follows an old road. In this view, you can just barely see the fire lookout building at the summit.

From the Chittenden Road parking area, the hike climbs gradually uphill, with an altitude gain of about 1,500 feet from the parking lot. The trail follows the path of an old road cuts up the mountain in a series of long switchbacks. The road now services the fire lookout, but originally was used by stagecoaches and wagons to take tourists to the summit, and then by automobiles until it was closed to regular traffic in the 1960s. At the summit, hikers are rewarded with 360-degree views and can warm up in the shelter of the  fire lookout. On the August day when we climbed Mount Washburn, a small collection of hikers were eating their lunch inside the stone structure. Outside the wind blew hard, and we were glad to have our fleece pullovers and windbreakers.

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Gray patches of dead lodgepole pines left in the wake of the 1988 fires. The sky was hazy until mid-afternoon, when it cleared up a bit.

From my 1984 visit, I remember the clarity of the alpine air and a scene much like that described by Doane. On this August hike, the view was hazy, obscured by the persistent smoke of several small forest fires. Throughout the day, a faint scent of smoke pervaded the air. On the trail, large swaths of gray lodgepole pines swept up the mountain’s flank, gray ghosts left from the forest fires that consumed much of Yellowstone in 1988. The hazy views are partly the result of new fire management policies implemented after the devastating 1988 fires, which were exacerbated by the then-existing policy of extinguishing fires as quickly as possible. Although well-intentioned – who wants to see a forest consumed by fire? – the “no-burn” policy caused dead trees to gather on the forest floor, creating ideal “ladders” for fired to climb into the treetop crowns, and then quickly spread throughout the park.

Close up of the pines.  On Mount Washburn, I didn't see much evidence that the forest was regenerating.

Close up of the pines. On Mount Washburn, I didn’t see much evidence that the forest was regenerating.

Today, small fires are left to burn, which both kills off dead branches that might build up into fire ladders and also promotes a healthy forest ecosystem. The pinecones of the lodgepole pine need fire to burst open and release their seeds so that new trees can propagate. The “no-fire” policy, therefore, had the effect of twice killing off the forest it was trying to save. But we didn’t know, or maybe we did know — by the 1980s, scientists understood that fire suppression wasn’t the answer – but maybe those scientists couldn’t convince the policy makers that trees needed fire, just as congressmen and senators couldn’t believe that a caldera of steaming land existed in the northwest corner of Wyoming.

The persistence of the smoky air might be a change from the time of the Washburn expedition. Over the past couple of decades, a hotter, drier climate out west has created ideal conditions for fires to burn quicker, bigger and longer. Is the increase in fires an indirect but predictable consequence of climate change? Or part of a fire cycle that was interrupted during the many decade of the fire suppression policy? Or a combination of both?

We don’t have all the answers, or definite solutions, to the challenges facing the forests or to the problem of climate change. As someone who was born wanting to travel, I feel pulled by conflicting impulses –– wanting to be part of the climate change solution, but also wanting to travel to the ends of the earth even if that means contributing to the spread of carbon poisons. I’ve done more than my fair share of travel by human power – on foot, by bicycle and kayak – but inevitably, I rely on fuel-powered transport to get me places. I know that jet fuel leaves an especially large carbon footprint. Can I offset that footprint with at-home recycling and reduced consumption? Does it really matter if I do so, given that millions of people in China, India and other countries can hardly wait to buy their first cars?

Looking out to the south. Hazy skies, so we missed the view of the Tetons.

Looking out to the south. Hazy skies, so we missed the view of the Tetons.

Although I’d like my actions contribute to solving the problem, I don’t feel guilty about the carbon footprint generated by my travels, nor does this knowledge diminish my pleasure in climbing Mount Washburn. (But maybe I feel a little guilty about not feeling guilty). One paradox of hiking and enjoying the great outdoors is that visits to places such as Mount Washburn cultivate an appreciation for the environment while also encouraging an exploring lifestyle that contributes to environmental problems (albeit on a much-reduced scale compared to industrial pollution).

I could choose to hike only in mountains closer to my home, but then I wouldn’t have climbed Mount Washburn on this beautiful August afternoon. Perhaps I am like most other Americans, preferring to ignore the problem, or refuse to believe all the evidence of its existence, rather than truly step up to the plate of my responsibility.

But not today, not when I am dreaming about Mount Washburn.  When I am remembering the satisfaction of putting one foot in front of another as the stone base of the fire tower gradually comes into view.  When I recall the greenish-brown alpine landscape spreading below me.  The joy of holding onto my hat as the wind threatens to blow me away…..

For a current view from the summit of Mount Washburn, check out the Park Service web cam.

Notes and sources:

Doane, Gustavus C. “The report of Lieutenant Gustavus C. Doane upon the so-called Yellowstone Expedition of 1870 (Report).” U.S. Secretary of War. March 3, 1871.
Langford, Nathaniel P. “The Wonders of Yellowstone”. Scribner’s Magazine. May 1871.

Nijhuis, Michelle. “Forest fires: Burn out.” Nature. 19 September 2012
http://www.nature.com/news/forest-fires-burn-out-1.11424