Unexpected Delights

As Labor Day weekend approached, Charlie and I were two mountains short of our goal of hiking the 67 New England 4000 footers.

Katahdin in Baxter State Park is a monstrous massif whose summit stretches for miles and encompasses two distinct peaks that qualify as 4000 footers. We had conquered the well-known Baxter Peak on other hikes but still had the less-traveled Hamlin Peak ahead of us.  

We planned to drive to Millinockett and stay in a hotel the night before heading into Baxter State Park but the Big Bed Bug Scare of Summer 2010 caused me to fear staying in a hotel.  So on to Plan B.  We called the park and were able to get two bunks in the bunkhouse at the trailhead--I was certain that my sleeping bag was bed bug free and couldn't imagine any self-respecting bed bug living in the inhospitable environment of a plywood bunk in Baxter State Park.  So, off we went.  The change of plans meant bringing gear to cook breakfast so we brought along our little stove and some supplies.

There was another couple in the bunk house with us and we stayed up playing Scrabble with them by gas lantern--some time during the game and the getting-to-know-you, Charlie and the other man discovered that they had both been to an Eagles and Dan Fogelberg concert in 1974 in New York City.  Do you ever wonder if we are all in some big Venn diagram and everyone intersects at some point?

The next morning, we were off to the trail.  Katahdin is my nemesis--I love it and I hate it--mostly I love it when I'm finished climbing it or planning to climb it--when I'm on the trail, I think that it's really really hard and the Native Americans were probably right about it being a sacred mountain that shouldn't be climbed.  I decide that I'm too old for such nonesense and decide never to climb it again--but where would the story be in that.

Our planned route was long and the wind above the trees was crazy.  But the views were incredible. When I wasn't shaking my first at the mountain for being so difficult, I was  full of the belief that at that moment I was the most fortunate person on earth.

We made it to the top with a great deal of effort.  It was impossible to remain completely vertical in the strong wind and without a tie for my hair my vision was severely compromised. I was afraid of descending the rocky trail with hair flying into my eyes and we made a decision to struggle through the wind for a mile along the summit ridge in order to descend by the sheltered Saddle Trail to Chimney Pond. Chimney Pond is only 3.3 miles from the Roaring Brook campground and our car.  It was a gradual grade and all downhill for us at that point but exhaustion was setting in.

About 1/2 mile from the end of the trail, Charlie remembered something wonderful!  "We have instant coffee and milk and sugar left over from breakfast!  I will go ahead and make it for you!"  A more sincere and timely expression of love has never been spoken.

So, I limped to the car and changed into jeans and a flannel shirt--cotton is deadly while hiking but so comforting afterward.  I slid down to the ground against a tree because it was the only way. Charlie handed me a cup of the most delicious coffee and we toasted our astounding day.  And you know, I really do love Katahdin.

Climbing Cannon with the Frat Boys

In January of 2007, Ethan and a bunch of his fraternity brothers rented a condominium in Franconia Notch so that they could ski at Cannon Mountain.  This was their senior year and they were ready for a skiing vacation before heading back for their last semester.  Unfortunately, the weather gods did not cooperate and the snow conditions were abysmal for skiing so Ethan suggested calling his mom who could bring some winter hiking gear over and then we could all climb Cannon.  Yes, I think that I might be the only mother ever invited on a fraternity outing.

I brought along thermoses of hot tea and hot jello, crampons and snow shoes and microspikes and everything else that I could come up with and headed over to meet them at the trail head.

The weather most of the way up was misty and the ground conditions were snow and ice.  I climbed fearlessly knowing that there were a dozen strong young men to carry me down if I broke my leg.

I have thick hair and lots of it and hats just aren't that comfortable for me.  So, in the winter I usually hike with as little on my head as possible. That day, my hair was getting pretty damp from the mist but I didn't think too much about it on the way up while my body was warm from exertion.  I should add that I was much more of a novice winter hiker than I am now and in no way endorse my winter hiking methods of 2007--do not try this at home, kids.

So, we climbed through the mist and slipped and slid our way up the mountain.  Some of the boys hiked in jeans, some in sneakers, some in ski boots--we were a motley crew but having the best time.  As we reached the summit suddenly it wasn't warm any more and there was a frigid wind and things started to freeze fast--including my hair.

The way I remember it, someone snapped a picture in a hurry and we all ran as fast as we could into the trees and drank tea and hot jello and put on whatever clothes were still dry in our backpacks and laughed and slid our way down the mountain and into the part of my brain labeled favorite memories.

Thanks Ross, from whose facebook photo album I stole these pictures.  I'll treasure this forever.

Mt. Chocorua--March 2010

From many of the summits that I reached while completing the list of New Hampshire 4000 footers, I would notice an interesting mountain to the south and say "What's that peak?" and Charlie would reply, "Chocorua". Hmmm, I would think--that mountain seems to look different from every angle but from every angle it looks intriguing. Eventually, I stopped asking what the funny looking peak was and just assumed that the one that caught my eye was Chocorua. Among the White Mountain hiking community, Chocorua is a name that comes up repeatedly as a favorite summit--people hike it over and over and over and now I know why.

This past Saturday, along with Sally and Elise, I headed up the Champney Brook Trail to the summit. The snow was perfect and the air temperature was cool enough to keep the snow solid and our body temperatures comfortable but high enough that we could retain feeling in our fingers and toes. The trail follows along and climbs above the Champney Brook with a side trail leading to the Champney Falls. We saw ice climbers heading to the falls and decided to take that detour on our descent.

We estimated that the snow was at least 5 feet deep based on the fact that the trail signs were right at our feet level. Sally climbed up on one of the signs for a photo shoot.

The trail took a turn to the west away from the brook and started a series of switchbacks which led us into an area just below the summit. The wind was pretty strong in the open but the views were spectacular.

We headed back into the trees to find a place to eat our lunch before heading down. Our descent went really fast and in some of the steepest parts I used the slide on your bottom and pretend you did it on purpose method. Tried and true.

We made it back to the s ide trail to the waterfall and tramped through some fresh snow in order to meet up with the ice climbers. It looked like an ice climbing class with lots of people climbing on the frozen waterfall. Good clean fun. Another great day in the mountains feeling like the luckiest person in the world

The Tippy Tops of New Hampshire

On Saturday, we hiked the Signal Ridge Trail to the top of 4700 foot Mt. Carrigain for my final New Hampshire 4000 footer climb.

I read a lot of mountain climbing books and blogs and it occurs to me that 4000 foot tall mountains aren't really that tall--Colorado climbers have their 14,000 foot club and Europeans have the Alps and don't even get me started on the Himalyas--but for we New Englanders who hit the trail near sea level, 4000 feet is the best we can do and doggone it, our trails are plenty hard enough for middle-aged weekend warriors like me! So yesterday on a picture perfect September day, we climbed up Mt. Carrigain. From the observation tower at the summit we could see 43 of the 48 peaks and we named them and remembered the climbs to reach their tops.

Ethan came up from Pennsylvania to share the hike. Charlie's sons Caleb and Jacob joined us, too. Net result of so much testosterone--I did not have to carry a backpack!

We ate our sandwiches on the summit and as we ate, I pointed out a beautiful gray jay keeping watch from a nearby spruce. He was so pretty and just weeks away from a long, long winter--so I gave in to temptation and shared a corner of my peanut butter and jelly with him.

Today, Carrigain

Today is the day to finish climbing the 48 New Hampshire 4000 footers. Caleb is driving up from Massachusetts to meet us at the trailhead, Ethan is here from Pennsylvania and Charlie will be at my side as we hike Mt. Carrigain.

See you at the top.

Mountain Trails

So, I turned 50.

It happens.

Others have done it and lived to tell the tale. Maybe it's no big deal, maybe it is--I guess that's something I'll have to think about. But whatever it is, it is a round number and round numbers provide an opportunity for sizing things up. So, size it up I will and I think it's ok. Life is full and beautiful and everything that my young self would have hoped for. No regrets.

But enough about age, let's go hiking.

After a miserable New England summer full of rain and cold temperatures, fall is turning out to be pretty darn perfect.

At one point, early in the season before the rain and before the super duper vacation, I had thought that maybe I would finish climbing all of the New England 4000 footers by the time I turned 50. That plan was de-railed by early July but I kept hiking whenever good weather and opportunity collided.

The hike to Bondcliff Mountain in New Hampshire was the one that I had the most trouble visualizing. There is no easy way to get to Bondcliff--it is in the middle of the Pemigewasset Wilderness and requires a long hike into the wilderness just to get to the mountain trail.

We finally settled on heading into the Wilderness on a Saturday afternoon with a tent and sleeping bags and camping 5 or 6 miles in, leaving our gear in the woods and summiting on Sunday with just day packs then returning to our big packs and hiking out Sunday afternoon. The plan worked like a charm--mainly because Charlie didn't mind carrying all the heavy stuff. Anyway, we hiked in and put our tent up in the woods off the trail, ate supper, went to sleep and woke up to head up the mountain that I had dreamed of the most.

When I first started hiking the mountains, I read every book that I could get my hands on and invariably the authors would talk about Bondcliff. It was at the top of almost everyone's list of favorite mountains and its inaccessibility added to its allure. So for the last four years, I have been wondering how and when I would experience it--the conditions had to be perfect for this most anticipated of mountains and on our weekend, they were. It was just incredible--like being on an island in the middle of a sea of mountains. A flat topped mountain with sheer cliffs dropping into the Pemigewasset.

We spent time on the top taking pictures of the views and each other then we hiked out retriving our heavy gear along the way. With Bondcliff under my belt I only have one more New Hampshire 4000 footer on the list. There are still more in Vermont and Maine to check off but I should complete the 48 peaks in New Hampshire this month.

Killington Mountain

In Vermont, there is a ski area called "The Beast of the East" located on Killington Mountain. Charlie had skiied it in his younger days and I had climbed up the ski trails a couple of summers ago while my sons rode mountain bikes on them but last weekend we decided to climb it from the west on the Bucklin Ridge Trail.

We have only climbed a two 4000 footers in Vermont, but were struck both times by the softness and ease of the trails. While parts of the trail are as steep as the ones in New Hampshire and Maine, the forest has more hardwood and the trail has more humus making the footing soft and a pleasure to walk on.

For this trail we hiked in along a stream for two miles before turning away from the stream and beginning our climb. Along the way we met a couple coming down with their seven week baby on his first hike.

Eventually our trail merged with the Appalachian Trail and the Long Trail and became much steeper as we headed up the summit cone. I'm not sure how the mom and the baby did the rock scrambling part but apparently they did.

When we emerged onto the peak, it was as if we were in a hurricane--the winds were fierce. Charlie walked around taking pictures of the ski area and the mountain bikers while I engaged in my favorite summit activity--a rock nap.

My 4000 footer totals stand at

Vermont 2 out of the 5
Maine 7 out of 14
New Hampshire 46 out of 48

That will be all the New England hiking for August--we're heading to Sweden, Latvia and Estonia this coming weekend but September and October are great hiking months in New England--so there will be more peaks ahead.

Mt. Moosilauke

I have this peculiar affliction that causes me to not pay attention to directional details when I am with a man--when I'm with two men--forget it--I couldn't read a map or find where I parked the car if you paid me. I am not proud of this affliction. When I'm alone, I know where I am and where I'm going and how to get there but throw a couple of good men into the mix and I just follow them up the trail. Somehow I completely missed this sign warning of the difficulties of the Beaver Brook Trail up Mt. Moosilauke--my 46th New Hampshire 4000 footer.

So up we went. Soon after we started hiking, we came upon a beautiful cascading waterfall. The trail became very steep at that point and as we continued climbing beside what seemed to be an unending series of cascading waterfalls, the grade did not ease up. Fortunately, the falls were so beautiful that we stopped frequently for pictures and for my heart and lungs to catch up.

Mt. Moosilauke is a large mountain on the western fringe of the White Mountains. There are many trails on the mountain and I am not sure why Charlie chose this one but despite the difficulty it was so beautiful that within a breathless mile I declared it my favorite trail ever. After a mile and a half we had ascended 2000 vertical feet--a grade of about 25%. The trail continued around the shoulder of two other mountains and gained an additional 1100 feet over 2.3 miles--a much more comfortable steepness ratio before emerging onto the bald summit of Mt. Moosilauke.

It was a beautiful day and a new favorite mountain. The views extended 360 degrees into Vermont and east to the Presidentials. Only two more New Hampshire 4000 footers for me to complete and it seems likely that I will get them climbed this year. I have lost hope on completing the New England 4000 footers in 2009 as the rain kept us from our Baxter State Park reservations in July and the two summits that I needed from there. But, the mountains aren't going anywhere--I'll be very happy with completing New Hampshire and perhaps Vermont in 2009 and completing Maine's peaks in 2010.

Tecumseh

Charlie and I got up early, packed our packs, poured travel mugs of coffee and then drove the 2-1/2 hours to Waterville Valley, New Hampshire and the Mt. Tecumseh trailhead arriving exactly at 9:00 to meet his son Caleb who came up from Massachusetts to hike with us.

We laughed when we got out of the cars because we all had on identical outfits of tan hiking pants and black fleece pullovers. Caleb started hiking with us a couple of years ago. He was trying to quit smoking and was advised by his doctor to try doing activities that he would not ordinarily do. He called us up to see what we were doing that weekend because he was quite sure whatever we were up to was not what he would ordinarily do. We were going hiking up the Kinsmans and so he drove up and met us--chain smoking his last cigarettes as he drove the 3 hours. His smoking habit comes and goes but he has managed to hike 11 mountains with us and one on his own so he's on the way to completing his list, too. We just need to find him a nice, intelligent, attractive, funny, 20-something female hiking companion.

I really enjoyed the hike up Tecumseh--it was a mostly a moderate grade with some flat spots where we just walked through the woods. There were two super-steep stretches up the two summit cones. We reached the west summit first and then had to descend steeply and traverse another flat spot before heading up the summit cone of the main summit which comes in at 4003 feet above sea level. The view was nice, although I guess we missed the best viewpoint by not coming up from the ski area. Oh well, we'll have to go back some day. We ate our lunch on the top and looked over at the Tripyramids and recalled our hike there on a hot July day two years ago.

The hike down included re-navigating the steep section up to the west summit but from then on it was all downhill. Once we were to the car, I got my clean clothes out of the trunk and went looking for a sheltered area in the creek to clean up. The cold water sure did feel good--those cold water creek cool downs are the best part of a summer hike.

What's left in New Hampshire
Liberty
Flume
Bondcliff
Moosilauke
Carrigain

Tomorrow, Tecumseh

Somewhere off to the southwest of Mt. Willey where Molly and I hiked on monday is the least of the New Hampshire 4000 footers called Mt. Tecumseh. I know that it is a true favorite of Tom and Atticus--they (well, Tom, I presume) wrote about it here. I have never climbed it and tomorrow, I think, will be the day.

There are 67 mountains above 4000 feet in New England. 48 of them are in New Hampshire, 14 are in Maine and 5 are in Vermont. In my younger days, I climbed some of them and some of those many times (Washington, Camels Hump and Mansfield) but that was before I began the quest--so anything that I climbed before June 21, 2005, does not count.

On the morning of June 21, 2005, I was on the last day of a short vacation in North Conway, New Hampshire, with Molly and Archie. We had driven over and stayed in a hotel for a couple of nights while the kids took a rock climbing course with International Mountain Climbing School.

That last morning, we sat in a Friendly's restaurant eating breakfast and I gave Molly and Archie a couple of options of what we could do with our day--a water park or go for a hike. They both immediately said they wanted to go climb Mt. Washington. Well, I had climbed Mt. Washington several times but not in recent years and, in fact, I wasn't really in very good shape for climbing up the tallest mountain in the northeast--especially as an impetuous decision over pancakes--but, OK!!

So, we drove to the trailhead and headed up. They beat me up by a good margin but waited at the top and then we headed down--they beat me down by a long shot, too, but by the time we met at the car I knew that I would find the peace and healing and strength that I had been looking for in the mountains.

Molly had her learner's permit and so I let her drive home since my legs were very sore--we took a shortcut down a road (and I use the word loosely) called the Jefferson Notch Road. It was full of huge potholes and our little VW Jetta bottomed out several times. Between my exhaustion and Molly's inexperience, we did not notice the oil light. We had ruptured the oil pan on a pothole. The engine seized and that was the end of the VW Jetta. But, that worked out too--I decided to buy a car better suited to my new life as a lady of the mountains and we picked out a Ford Escape.

A few weeks later, I climbed up to Mt. Madison by myself. It was the first time that I had hiked alone and it was fine--I really liked it. A few weeks after that I climbed Mt. Lafayette and Mt. Lincoln--Ethan and Molly went with me on that long hike--although they were jackrabbits who I only saw at pre-arranged catchup spots. Not long after that I hiked Mt. Jefferson alone and then Mt. Eisenhower and then in a memorable hike in October, I hiked to Mt. Monroe along the historic Crawford Path. The Red Sox were playing the Yankees that Sunday and as I hiked I met up with two men who were hiking with a radio on their backpack--we hiked together and listened to the game as all the world stretched below us dressed in red and gold. At that moment, I knew that I was experiencing what for me was perfect bliss.

There were many more hikes throughout that fall and winter some in New Hampshire and some in Maine. Mostly I hiked alone, but sometimes with one of the kids and once, in the winter, with Ethan's entire fraternity up Cannon Mountain. Then in the summer of 2006, Charlie appeared back in my life and we got married and started hiking together. In September of 2006, we hiked over the Wildcats and into Carter Notch, spent the night in the hut and then climbed up to Carter Dome the next morning where we met Tom and Atticus. At that point, I didn't know much about peak bagging but Tom told us about his adventures with Atticus climbing the 48 New Hampshire peaks and I really was intrigued. When we got to a trail junction, we had a choice. Either head back to the car or take another trail so that we could summit South Carter--a mountain with no view and no reason to be climbed other than to check it off a list. Either we were peak baggers or we weren't. We took the trail for South Carter and so began the checkmarks.

So here I am, closing in on the end of the list. I have six more in New Hampshire, 7 more in Maine and 3 more in Vermont.

Tomorrow, we will check Tecumseh and I will strategize on how to get the rest based on the weather and my work schedule. I would like to finish the New Hampshire ones before Molly goes back to college on August 16 so she can share the last New Hampshire peak with me since she was there for the first one.

And that peace, strength and healing that I suspected I would find in the mountains--it was there.

Rainy Days and Sundays, Mondays, Tuedays....

Please note the juxtaposition of the verdant growth of raspberry canes outside of the window and the roaring fire in the woodstove. Another rainy day in the 50's in northern New England and we have only FIVE pieces of wood left in the barn--I guess we'll have to start burning books and furniture soon. I try to recall summer, but the memory is proving elusive.

So, we do what we can.

Molly just finished a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle of sunflowers and I gave into an impulse purchase and bought 8 yards of fabric at Walmart without any idea of what to do with it. But, you see, the fabric contains outlines of all of the states with their attendant flowers and birds. Ideas are welcome. So far I have come up with curtains for the bathroom and placemats but that still leaves me with about 5 yards of unplanned fabric. I'm thinking about a skirt and matching handbag--is it really tacky to wear a skirt that matches your bathroom curtains and your placemats?

Yesterday, Molly and I decided to brave the weather and head off onto the trails in order to climb Mt. Willey and check another 4000 footer off the list. Our original plan was to hike to a mountain called Bondcliff--that one is an 18 mile hike and so we needed to get going really early in the morning in order to get out of the woods by dark. When I woke Molly up at 5, she suggested that perhaps another shorter hike that would allow her a few hours more sleep would be a better idea. I was happy that she gave me an excuse to change our plans, hiking to Bondcliff in questionable weather with high water at the river crossings was probably not a great idea. So, Mt. Willey it was.

Mt. Willey is the southernmost peak in a range of three 4000 footers at the eastern edge of the Pemigewassset Wilderness in New Hampshire's White Mountains. The day was rainy and the rocks were slippery and wet but there is no place that I would have preferred to be.

Bald Mountain, Oquossoc

Well, with the bees happily building their comb and the queen freed from her box, we decided to drive over the mountain to Rangely, Maine.

We drove up over the Height of Land where the Appalachian Trail crosses Route 17. Lake Mooselookmeguntic was as startlingly beautiful as ever. The ice was starting to go out from the edges, but it will be awhile before the last of it is gone.

One of at least three Bald Mountains in the state of Maine is located near Rangely in the town of Oquossoc. The Maine Mountain Guide listed the trail as 1 mile to the 2443 foot summit. We were surprised to find the trailhead parking lot still full of snow but decided to park on the road and try the trail anyway. The snow was firm and the air was warm, so we headed up the mountain.

There were parts where the trail was kind of icy and, unprepared as we were for the conditions, I was forced to use my Poland Springs water bottle for an ice axe. Not a recommended use.

At the top of the mountain, there was a fire tower. A little known fact is that I am scared of heights that God didn't make but I'm glad that Charlie encouraged me up the tower--the view was amazing.

It felt so good to be up a mountain and to exert some energy in the fresh air. It was so quiet at the top--at other times of the year the noise of snowmobiles or jetskis would disturb the peace but yesterday in between those seasons, we were the only ones in the world.

Revisiting a favorite post with an Exciting Update

I first wrote this in January, 2008. It is one of my favorite posts and the one that is most often found on google because of the burgeoning fame of Tom and Atticus. They will be hiking this week with a film crew from Animal Planet who will feature Atticus in their show Dogs 101.

In September, 2006, Charlie and I spent a weekend hiking over the Wildcats and across the southern Carter range. As we climbed Carter Dome on the morning of our second day, we met a man who was hiking with his dog.

It isn't so unusual to see people hiking with dogs, but it is fairly unusual to see someone hiking up the rugged high peaks of New Hampshire's White Mountains with a schnauzer. We unconsciously alternated rest breaks with the man and his dog, stopping to exchange pleasantries each time one of us passed the other.

At a ledge over-looking Carter Notch and the hut, the man took a picture of us. Way down at the bottom of the picture, you can see the green roof of the hut. It obviously had been a steep climb for all of us--but for that little schnauzer?

Carter Dome, at a height of 4832 feet is the 9th highest of the White Mountains. When we made the summit, we had it to ourselves with no sign of the man and dog who had passed us again a little before. Despite its height, the summit of Carter Dome does not provide much of a view. Charlie, who had hiked the trail before, assured me that less than a mile to the north, Mt. Hight would provide a beautiful view across Pinkham Notch and the eastern side of the Presidential Range.

We kept at it--heading north on the Carter-Moriah trail to Mt. Hight. When we got there, it was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. There was an undercast in the Notch and the Northern Presidentials poked up through it like islands in an ocean of clouds. The leaves were just starting to turn and the contrast of the clouds below the majestic peaks and then the blue sky was just incredible.

It's impossible to share such rare beauty with a stranger without feeling that you have slipped into friendship, so we shared the summit with the man and his dog and talked a bit about who we were and what we did and why we were climbing a mountain on a Sunday in September when the Red Sox were playing the Yankees.

The man's name was Tom and his dog was named Atticus. They lived in Massachusetts where he operated a controversial political newspaper. Tom and Atticus climbed 4000 footers every weekend year-round and were planning on hiking all 48 4000 footers two times the coming winter as a fund-raiser for the Jimmy Fund.

He told us about an internet hangout for hikers called Views from the Top and said he would sponsor us as members. C and I became avid readers of the posts on Views from the Top and our favorite poster of trip reports was, of course, Tom and Atticus. His writing was amazing. If the standard advice to writers is to write about your passion, he was clearly passionate about the mountains.

When I was a little girl growing up, my neighbor was an artist named Arnelda Richter. On a summer morning, she would find me knocking at the sliding glass door of her studio. She would let me in to watch her paint--I loved her artistry--especially her paintings of the ocean because she painted the ocean the way I saw it. As a child, I couldn't understand why others couldn't capture the ocean quite right--of course now I know that we all experience things differently. But just like my artist neighbor painted the ocean the way it was to me, Tom writes about the mountains the way I know them.

The man and dog are at it again, this winter attempting to climb all 48 4000 footers two times to raise money for MSPCA-Angell Animal Medical Center. Tom sold his newspaper last fall and moved up to New Hampshire to write and to hike with his companion, Atticus. I have never read his political writings, but his mountain writings are extraordinary. If you have ever wondered what it is like to climb mountains or to love a dog or to heal from heartbreak, Tom can tell you.

The Bemis Track

Yesterday I decided to hike out to Angel Falls which is located in a remote area about a mile off an old railroad bed called the Bemis Track. The Bemis track is barely passable as a road in the summer and in the winter only serves snowmobilers traveling the wild country between Lake Mooselookmeguntic and the Tumbledown region. It's a good place to be alone.

I parked my car just off Route 17 and changed into my hiking boots, adjusting my backpack with the snowshoes strapped to the outside. I knew that I would need the snowshoes for the mile hike from the Bemis track to the falls, but thought the track would be packed down enough by snowmobilers that I might be able to cover the four miles to the trailhead faster in my bare boots.

Everything was so quiet--no birds, no wind, no sound of rushing water from the brook that paralleled the trail. The rushing water was buried deep beneath many feet of ice and as I looked off the trail at the book, I could only imagine its course by the buried mounds of boulders.

So, off I went, leaving the car at 11 a.m. It's hard to judge distance along the track and with the late start, I decided that if I was not to the trailhead by 1 p.m., I would turn around. Charlie was at a ski race and would not be home to notice that I was missing until close to dark--late to mount a rescue effort--and the bargain I have struck with the ones who love me is that they won't complain about me hiking alone if I exercise extreme caution.

It was hard walking, slightly uphill at a railroad grade and the snow was not as hard packed as I had imagined it would be. My feet sank in about 2 inches with each step and by 12 when I stopped to find the trailmix in my pack and to drink some water, I was really getting tired. I munched the trail mix and kept walking wondering if maybe I should put on my snowshoes. Just before 1 p.m., I saw a big boulder up the road a ways and decided to walk to the boulder and then decide what to do. I made it to the boulder and decided to put my snowshoes on and turn around.

As I was putting on my snowshoes, I heard the roar of snowmobiles that soon materialized coming from the direction of Mooselookmeguntic. The leader pulled up beside me and looked for all the world like he had just driven off the pages of an L. L. Bean catalogue with his green wool Maine guide jacket and handsome chiseled features. The people on the many sleds behind him had the look of eager weekend visitors who had paid him for a snowmobile adventure. He asked me if I was safe and I said yes. I asked him how far to the trailhead since he had just come from that direction and he said about 1/2 mile but suggested that I turn around as it was getting late and cold. I agreed. He patted the back of his sled and told me to hop on. I was tempted--tired and facing 2 hours back to my car--but I shook my head, assured him that I was fine and sent them on their way.

Before heading back I took out my camera and took one picture before the battery died. Kind of a weird day--no goals realized but I am a firm believer that in life it is the process not the product that matters. I had a wonderful day breathing fresh air, exercising my body, remembering all the other hikes to Angel Falls and casting my cares off into the snowy world.