Trapped by The Transparency of it All
On a slow walk through the Autumn woods, Gnomus finds a container of memories now lost, sitting alone empty in the woods. Can there be any other result?.
Once the hot coffee arrives, a wool blanket over the shoulders will make for a nice place to wait.
Does the End of the Season seem near?
One year ago today, on Thursday October 15, 2020, I made my last hike in the White Mountains. Events of 2021 kept me off the trails, but that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about last time I was in the mountains. Here is how I closed my season last year with a day hike on Moosilauke…
After a relaxing long Columbus Day weekend with my family at our vacation house, we closed the house on Tuesday, and my wife and son returned to home so our son could go back to his school and music activities. Meanwhile I put some gear in the Green Bus and headed W/NW for the Whites, for a couple of days of hiking. Pleasant weather, and just chilly enough to be refreshing.
Wednesday’s intent was the Wildcats, but because of the recent rains I didn’t see the initial brook as being safely cross-able, especially since I was alone. Bail out, and back to N. Conway to hike up Kearsarge and then the next local peak complex on the south side of the same road (forgetting the name, but a pleasant walk, hope to take CPS/CMS up both at some point). Both peaks have very nice views in westward directions.
I thought I’d circle through Crawford Notch and overnight at Zealand, but that was closed for the season. And Lafayette was full. So back up the Kanc to the first forest service campground, Hancock. A nice big bowl of pasta, a tasty beer, and maybe some trailmix for dinner. Next morning, Thursday, up with the sun to lower the tent and get on the road to Moosilauke.
Found my way to 118 and had a very nice drive on a clear day as the sun rose.
The intention was to park at the DOC lodge for the day, but because of COVID the access road was closed past the point where it swings to the east, about a mile from the lodge. When I arrived there were only 2 other cars – a couple of guys clearly not decided what to do, and two obviously fit women, dressed for the mission and clearly experienced hikers from the way they moved. They got off before me. I changed into my shorts and boots, prepared my daypack, and was on the trail quickly – maybe even before 9?
Walk down to lodge to pick up the Gorge Brook Trail. I felt strong and moved along easily, passing the two women shortly after when the GBT leaves the Gorge Brook – and it starts to get a little steeper for awhile. It’s a steady ascent later on, but I left the hike unbroken until I was into the scrub.
This is the area that I have memories from boyhood at Camp Wachusett, would have been probably 1970, my first time away from home for the summer, and Moosilauke was the first “real mountain” I had been on. Being from rural Ohio, the idea of hiking on a mountain itself was strenuous, not to mention it was physically strenuous. Times were different then. There were wild blueberries everywhere and our two counsellors had baggies which we filled with the treats. What I don’t remember clearly is whether or not we camped on the mountain; I suspect we did, and the blueberry gathering probably happened in the southern scrub prior to our descent the next day. Maybe we were on different trails. The big memory though was that when we got to the lodge (far more rustic than the grand complex that is there now), there were friends of our counsellors who made pies with the berries we had collected, and we must have stayed around long enough to eat them before leaving the lodge, as I remember the smoky warm dark woody feeling of the lodge as I had whatever my small share must have been (there couldn’t have been a lot, 10-15 boys, 2 counsellors, and their friends would have shared the fruits of our labors). I remember the flavor being unlike anything I had experienced before…it would have been my first wild blueberries.
Back to today’s trip. Sitting in the scrub, resting my knees, a lone hiker was coming down from the peak and suggested full wind gear for the final ascent – good advice because as soon as one rose above the treeline it was very windy and very brisk. It would have been miserable to stayed in just T shirt and shorts. I put on my fleece, windpants, and windbreaker, hat and gloves. Was very comfortable for the trip to the peak.
Here at the east peak I found a fairly wind-free corner to settle into among the ruins of the old hotel. The women caught up and found a corner also. These were the only people I saw at the summit. They didn’t stay long, but I lingered. I was warm enough, it was a spectacular day, and what was the rush to get off this mountain?
I had my cell phone, the digital camera (Canon G1x III) and my Nikon S2 (loaded with B/W film, ASA100, but I don’t recall what film offhand) with me. So far I hadn’t taken many pictures, but took the time now to make some photographs in between having a light lunch of trail mix and water.
I might have spent an hour here, but eventually one has to return. Headed down the Carriage Road over the south peak, and as I entered the conifers encountered maybe at most a half-dozen other scattered hikers on their way up. As I have everytime before, I’ve wondered how this path, which is stony and broken, could serve as a carriage road. It seems way to rough for any kind of wooden wheeled vehicle, but then I have no real idea how tough those old carriages must have been….or their occupants!
Here is about halfway down, where large rocks were placed to block motor vehicle access to the upper part of the Carriage Road…but it’s easy to see how rocky the path is.
When I came to the Snapper Trail cut off, my knees were asking for a bit of mercy, so I stopped and sat on a rock across from the sign, had a little trail mix and water, and rested a bit. The original intention was to return via Snapper, but it was still early afternoon, the Carriage Road looked much more inviting (if little used) after this point, and I’d never hiked it below this point. A quick consult with the map showed I’d be able to return to the lodge on the Hurricane Trail, and the decision was made, a new route down for me. Carriage Road from this point was marvelous. Empty, a very pleasant walk on dirt and leaves (few rocks), gentle switchbacks, through the changing deciduous forest.
Turned left on the Hurricane Trail and had a nice fairly level traverse above the brook back to the lodge, and then back up to the Green Bus.
The drive out was full of color, maybe the most colorful day of the Autumn.
I’ve always enjoyed Moosilauke – as I have nearly everything I’ve hiked in the Whites (which is a lot of it from the Presidentials south and west except for the Bonds and Owl’s Head). Someday I need to do the Carters and Wildcats (and the Bonds and Owl’s Head) to complete The 46. Moosilauke has a more quiet magnitude to it, and I think that’s what it’s such an enjoyable trip.
Despite recent setbacks, I’ve had a fortunate run for a little over 6 decades – much more than any of my ancestors could have expected. I sincerely hope future events will allow me another trip or two, trips on which I can share this with my family. And I do hope that when my son is my age, he is able to come see these mountains, enjoy the trails and the Outdoors, and pass along his father’s appreciation for these kinds of blessed experiences.
(view from the Bus as I headed back to 118 and on to Farmington)
The perception of an unpleasant reality is but just that – and once perceived cannot be hidden by throwing one’s hands up in front of one’s face.
A looming and unrecognized presence is a cognitive challenge to the chance explorer of the beachhead. Distant observers may be taking note.
Sometimes there is nothing to do except relax and see what will be.
Recent events have made me aware of the insufficiency of Time granted to those seeking the thoughtful life, itself perhaps paradoxical.
I might put up some commented images here in the future but that depends on the relative value of the irreplaceable resource of time vs what I have to show or say.
I will periodically update my Flickr pages, ppsfilm and ppscolor58. I leave my favorite images I’ve made there. If you’d enjoyed my images, please feel free to visit, have a look, and drop me a note.
Gnomus, a.k.a. Retrocrank
They grow like weeds, their gossamer offspring spreading readily and widely at the slightest breeze, randomly taking over the fields and woodlands.
And the dandelions in the yard?
Fomapan 100 / Microdol-X 1:1
retrocrank 