June 12, 2008 - Day Two
We listened avidly to the weather report for the day; a high of 70 forecasted, clear skies, some wind. We didn't mean to set out so expeditiously on arrival on the most arduous of the climbs, but given the weather forecast, felt it would be the most auspicious time to tackle the twin mountains, Welch-Dickey.
We rose fairly early, showered, had a long and leisurely breakfast - Angelyne had her turkey bacon and eggs, grapefruit, toast and tea, bulking up for the energy expenditure ahead. But then there was also the little matter of packing her lunch, which we promised she would be enjoying at a rather elevated latitude.
She decided to do it herself, preparing a turkey-cheese-lettuce sandwich, nectarine, apple, chocolate chip cookies, little bag of candies, and a fruit yogurt. All packed into a neat little zip-up bag with a small freezer bag on the bottom. And her bottle of water. All of which she would carry in her backpack.
My backpack was replete with rainjackets for all of us (just in case), treats for Button and Riley, retractable leashes, water, insect repellent and sunscreen. We'd have to wear long pants, I stressed, since this climb had some serious clambering to be done, not at all kind to bare flesh. And, since we discovered, once committed to the trail, that black flies were present in abundance, good thing, too.
As we set out from the parking lot, a trio of young women also exited from their vehicle, and accessed the trailhead just ahead of us. I felt pretty certain we'd be left far behind in their dust. Riley has a tendency to plow slowly forward, and that's great, since for Irving and me it's no longer full speed ahead. When we were younger and our three children teens, we used to do the circuit under given time, in less than three hours.
So, off we plodded, an entirely new experience for Angelyne. This was part of our birthday gift to her, inviting her to accompany us on this week's vacation in New Hampshire, to celebrate her twelfth birthday. Plenty of chattering, since young girls never quite assume silence at any given time. As for me, I delighted in pointing out to her the various wild flowers we passed, the nature of the trees, the brook we followed after the initial switch-back.
Slow and steady does it for us, and as far as I could detect, slow and steady was just fine with our granddaughter, as well. Although she is capable of spurting ahead, she did very little of that, preferring to match our pace, which was inordinately temperate. A tall wizened, older man hoisting two hiking sticks made his speedy way behind us. We greeted and he soon outpaced us, leaving us with his little homily: this is not an endurance test or a race.
Angelyne is curious about the process and procedure, trusting us to provide an experience for her that she has never before been exposed to. For our part, we're eager to share with her our love for the outdoors, particularly the mountains, and the difficult but rewarding ascent involved in achieving a summit. She learns to look out for the yellow blazes indicating the correct trail, and bypasses false trails.
We hear birds in the woods, and enjoy the sight of buttercups, daisies, (and scent of)bedding grasses, and Ladies Slippers. The occasional butterfly flits past us. Our little dogs march on, Button ahead, and Riley, as usual, lagging behind, bringing up the rear. It takes an hour for us to finally reach the lookout ridge, and we explain to Angie the purpose of the state authorities in asking hikers not to roam beyond the trail borders, to protect the frail alpine growth on the granite shield.
Surprise, there are the three young women, sitting on the ledge. As we approach, we greet one another and one explains that she's been here before, and is guiding her friends. They depart, and we take some photographs, offer the dogs water, and Angie eats an apple. Then we too continue the ascent to the summit of Welch Mountain. Low blueberry bushes, junipers, oak, pine, laurel, Labrador tea, and azaleas decorate the sides of the narrow granite trail.
We make our way over bare twined roots, rocks, and narrow passageways, the trail growing ever more steep. From time to time we find ourselves on bare sweeps of granite and bend with the effort of making our way up the long stony slopes, until once again we find ourselves surrounded by stressed trees and then come abreast of granite shelves waist-high and occasionally at shoulder-height. Our little dogs have to be lifted onto these shelves, and we have to hoist ourselves to their heights before proceeding.
The sun is warm, but we're not too hot, because there's a nice stiff wind cooling us off. The black flies, however, are ubiquitous here and crave our flesh. They bite distinct bits of flesh off our skin and the application of insect repellent has questionable value. Angie won't use the repellent, but I do. In the end, she comes out with but one bite on her neck, while my neck, scalp and back of my ears are covered with bites.
When we finally attain the summit of Welch, it's with great relief. A temporary reprieve from the stress of forging on, despite tired muscles and heaving chests. And there are the three young women, resting, having their lunch. We find our own resting place - there are no areas there with shade, the trees are too stunted and sparse to provide shelter from the sun - and Angie has her lunch, the dogs their biscuits and more water.
Then it's time to shove off, and we shrug back into our packs and continue. First the perilous seeming bit of a descent from Welch onto the coll that connects the two mountains. As we begin to descend, Angie points out to us the far-off figure of a sole woman hiker with a bright blue shirt who had passed us on our way up Welch. Amazingly, she is descending Dickey, going back down into the coll.
We meet her when we access the coll on our way up to Mount Dickey, and ask her why she hadn't completed the circuit. She looks confused, and asks for an explanation. We respond that this is a circuit; having ascended Dickey, she should have continued making her way down Dickey, and on into the forest to take the long trail down the mountainside back into the parking lot.
She's been there before, she's a local. She confesses that she's disoriented, couldn't figure out where she was, and couldn't even recall passing through the coll. We carefully set out the route for her again, and she backtracks, making her way back up the same way she had come from. Her husband, she informed us, isn't interested in the out-of-doors, and she intends, some day, to persuade her 15-year-old daughter to accompany her.
We're certain she'll make her way back out all right, now. The three young women catch up to us, as we're clambering out of the coll. We stand briefly together and talk.
Turns out the woman who'd been here before couldn't quite recall the route. She had imagined the lookout to have been Welch, and when they achieved the summit of Welch, she thought they were on Dickey. We explained to them what the reality was, and the guide turned and apologized to her two friends, one of whom looked decidedly unhappy, nursing black fly bites, and looking utterly exhausted.
We bade them farewell, and forged on in their wake. Ascending to Dickey had its own complicating routes and difficulties, but in the end proved not to be quite as difficult as my memory had it. And once we initiated the downward clamber, and accessed one huge granite ledge after another, each with its stunning look out, and opportunities for more photographs, we relaxed knowing the most difficult part of our day's adventure was behind us.
Knowing, however, that it would yet take us close to two hours to completely descend. We related to Angie that the original White Mountain guide book had explained the presence of an ancient Indian symbol etched on one of the great granite slopes, and that her uncle and her father had isolated it, and pointed it out to us, many years ago. We hadn't been able to make it out since, despite returning on numerous occasions.
And darned if Angie, on the last ledge before we made our way through the forest and onto the rocky ledge didn't stop and ask "does it look like this?", pointing out the presence of a large circle etched in the granite. Speechless, we nodded assent. She whooped and whipped out her camera, taking a few photographs of the fabled symbol, and felt awfully good about her detection abilities.
From the high granite ridge that extended high above the forest below, falling down on either side of the ridge, we eventually made our way onto the forest trail for good, our knees somewhat wobbly, our legs good and tired, our toes feeling well stubbed. We stumbled gracelessly over endlessly twined tree roots as the trail twisted and turned. We felt completely exhausted.
On the way, however, alert enough to point out sumachs that in the fall had bright red clusters of berries, quite unlike the staghorn sumachs we're accustomed to seeing. And columbines in flower, first time we've ever seen them there. And numberless blueberry bushes. Huge beech trees were ornamented with the punctures made by bear cubs climbing up their grey trunks.
Finally, four and one-half hours after we began the ascent, we emerged from the forest trail.
Done, and done in. Exultant. Happy with our day's adventure.
We rose fairly early, showered, had a long and leisurely breakfast - Angelyne had her turkey bacon and eggs, grapefruit, toast and tea, bulking up for the energy expenditure ahead. But then there was also the little matter of packing her lunch, which we promised she would be enjoying at a rather elevated latitude.
She decided to do it herself, preparing a turkey-cheese-lettuce sandwich, nectarine, apple, chocolate chip cookies, little bag of candies, and a fruit yogurt. All packed into a neat little zip-up bag with a small freezer bag on the bottom. And her bottle of water. All of which she would carry in her backpack.
My backpack was replete with rainjackets for all of us (just in case), treats for Button and Riley, retractable leashes, water, insect repellent and sunscreen. We'd have to wear long pants, I stressed, since this climb had some serious clambering to be done, not at all kind to bare flesh. And, since we discovered, once committed to the trail, that black flies were present in abundance, good thing, too.
As we set out from the parking lot, a trio of young women also exited from their vehicle, and accessed the trailhead just ahead of us. I felt pretty certain we'd be left far behind in their dust. Riley has a tendency to plow slowly forward, and that's great, since for Irving and me it's no longer full speed ahead. When we were younger and our three children teens, we used to do the circuit under given time, in less than three hours.
So, off we plodded, an entirely new experience for Angelyne. This was part of our birthday gift to her, inviting her to accompany us on this week's vacation in New Hampshire, to celebrate her twelfth birthday. Plenty of chattering, since young girls never quite assume silence at any given time. As for me, I delighted in pointing out to her the various wild flowers we passed, the nature of the trees, the brook we followed after the initial switch-back.
Slow and steady does it for us, and as far as I could detect, slow and steady was just fine with our granddaughter, as well. Although she is capable of spurting ahead, she did very little of that, preferring to match our pace, which was inordinately temperate. A tall wizened, older man hoisting two hiking sticks made his speedy way behind us. We greeted and he soon outpaced us, leaving us with his little homily: this is not an endurance test or a race.
Angelyne is curious about the process and procedure, trusting us to provide an experience for her that she has never before been exposed to. For our part, we're eager to share with her our love for the outdoors, particularly the mountains, and the difficult but rewarding ascent involved in achieving a summit. She learns to look out for the yellow blazes indicating the correct trail, and bypasses false trails.
We hear birds in the woods, and enjoy the sight of buttercups, daisies, (and scent of)bedding grasses, and Ladies Slippers. The occasional butterfly flits past us. Our little dogs march on, Button ahead, and Riley, as usual, lagging behind, bringing up the rear. It takes an hour for us to finally reach the lookout ridge, and we explain to Angie the purpose of the state authorities in asking hikers not to roam beyond the trail borders, to protect the frail alpine growth on the granite shield.
Surprise, there are the three young women, sitting on the ledge. As we approach, we greet one another and one explains that she's been here before, and is guiding her friends. They depart, and we take some photographs, offer the dogs water, and Angie eats an apple. Then we too continue the ascent to the summit of Welch Mountain. Low blueberry bushes, junipers, oak, pine, laurel, Labrador tea, and azaleas decorate the sides of the narrow granite trail.
We make our way over bare twined roots, rocks, and narrow passageways, the trail growing ever more steep. From time to time we find ourselves on bare sweeps of granite and bend with the effort of making our way up the long stony slopes, until once again we find ourselves surrounded by stressed trees and then come abreast of granite shelves waist-high and occasionally at shoulder-height. Our little dogs have to be lifted onto these shelves, and we have to hoist ourselves to their heights before proceeding.
The sun is warm, but we're not too hot, because there's a nice stiff wind cooling us off. The black flies, however, are ubiquitous here and crave our flesh. They bite distinct bits of flesh off our skin and the application of insect repellent has questionable value. Angie won't use the repellent, but I do. In the end, she comes out with but one bite on her neck, while my neck, scalp and back of my ears are covered with bites.
When we finally attain the summit of Welch, it's with great relief. A temporary reprieve from the stress of forging on, despite tired muscles and heaving chests. And there are the three young women, resting, having their lunch. We find our own resting place - there are no areas there with shade, the trees are too stunted and sparse to provide shelter from the sun - and Angie has her lunch, the dogs their biscuits and more water.
Then it's time to shove off, and we shrug back into our packs and continue. First the perilous seeming bit of a descent from Welch onto the coll that connects the two mountains. As we begin to descend, Angie points out to us the far-off figure of a sole woman hiker with a bright blue shirt who had passed us on our way up Welch. Amazingly, she is descending Dickey, going back down into the coll.
We meet her when we access the coll on our way up to Mount Dickey, and ask her why she hadn't completed the circuit. She looks confused, and asks for an explanation. We respond that this is a circuit; having ascended Dickey, she should have continued making her way down Dickey, and on into the forest to take the long trail down the mountainside back into the parking lot.
She's been there before, she's a local. She confesses that she's disoriented, couldn't figure out where she was, and couldn't even recall passing through the coll. We carefully set out the route for her again, and she backtracks, making her way back up the same way she had come from. Her husband, she informed us, isn't interested in the out-of-doors, and she intends, some day, to persuade her 15-year-old daughter to accompany her.
We're certain she'll make her way back out all right, now. The three young women catch up to us, as we're clambering out of the coll. We stand briefly together and talk.
Turns out the woman who'd been here before couldn't quite recall the route. She had imagined the lookout to have been Welch, and when they achieved the summit of Welch, she thought they were on Dickey. We explained to them what the reality was, and the guide turned and apologized to her two friends, one of whom looked decidedly unhappy, nursing black fly bites, and looking utterly exhausted.
We bade them farewell, and forged on in their wake. Ascending to Dickey had its own complicating routes and difficulties, but in the end proved not to be quite as difficult as my memory had it. And once we initiated the downward clamber, and accessed one huge granite ledge after another, each with its stunning look out, and opportunities for more photographs, we relaxed knowing the most difficult part of our day's adventure was behind us.
Knowing, however, that it would yet take us close to two hours to completely descend. We related to Angie that the original White Mountain guide book had explained the presence of an ancient Indian symbol etched on one of the great granite slopes, and that her uncle and her father had isolated it, and pointed it out to us, many years ago. We hadn't been able to make it out since, despite returning on numerous occasions.
And darned if Angie, on the last ledge before we made our way through the forest and onto the rocky ledge didn't stop and ask "does it look like this?", pointing out the presence of a large circle etched in the granite. Speechless, we nodded assent. She whooped and whipped out her camera, taking a few photographs of the fabled symbol, and felt awfully good about her detection abilities.
From the high granite ridge that extended high above the forest below, falling down on either side of the ridge, we eventually made our way onto the forest trail for good, our knees somewhat wobbly, our legs good and tired, our toes feeling well stubbed. We stumbled gracelessly over endlessly twined tree roots as the trail twisted and turned. We felt completely exhausted.
On the way, however, alert enough to point out sumachs that in the fall had bright red clusters of berries, quite unlike the staghorn sumachs we're accustomed to seeing. And columbines in flower, first time we've ever seen them there. And numberless blueberry bushes. Huge beech trees were ornamented with the punctures made by bear cubs climbing up their grey trunks.
Finally, four and one-half hours after we began the ascent, we emerged from the forest trail.
Done, and done in. Exultant. Happy with our day's adventure.
Labels: Family, Peregrinations
posted by Pieface @ 2:12 PM
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