11 June 2009, Waterville Valley, N.H.

Slightly milder, heavily overcast, low, fast-moving clouds under higher, lighter-coloured cloud formations. The forecast calls for showers, chance of isolated thunderstorms. Until three p.m., when rain could present. Not quite the weather forecast one would wish for, to enable hiking in the mountains, but precisely what one should anticipate would occur, in the mountains.

We'd take the chance, we decided, packing rain gear into our backpack. Bought our White Mountain National Forest pass for the week at the local information kiosk near a gas station off the highway and set off for Smarts Brook. to do the circuit and risk the weather. We could see the twin peaks of Welch-Dickey, clouds obscuring the taller of the two. May try out on a more assured weather-day. May not, however, get beyond the lookout, on the way up to Welch.

Hawkweed, yellow mostly, some bright orange, along with daisies, lupin, dogwood and honeysuckle provide bright splashes of colour against the wooded backdrop of hardwoods and conifers. We were struck by the proliferation of blow-downs. Must have had a hard winter and early spring.

Some huge old yellow birch and hemlock that had fallen across the trail had just recently, from the fresh evidence of bright sawdust littering the trail, been removed, reminding us of the mini-hurricane-force winds that had done like damage to our ravine trees, this early spring. The trail surprisingly dry, generations of detritus soaking up the redundant rainfall of the last several days.

The mountain stream gushed over the rocks, the substrate gravel of the creek bed, roaring as we came abreast of its white-water course over granite obstacles. Button and Riley excited, sniffing everywhere. We're fairly convinced they recognize where we are; recall our previous years' forays here. There is no wind. There are mosquitoes, but we're well covered, long pants, long-sleeved shirts.

We forge ahead, passing familiar landmarks. Familiar, yet still surprising, the beauty of the landscape fresh each time we see it. The towering granite cliffs, moisture-sodden with flume and ground water seeping down its height, coloured in shades of grey, brown, striations of black, on brick-red granite. Luscious mosses grow luxuriantly, lavishly on the granite, tree trunks, sides of the trail, and long-fallen old tree trunks Lichens cling to the sides of trees. Hemlock saplings crowd the underbrush.

Among the oak, birches and maples grow moose maple, the smaller they are, the larger their leaves. But dogwood is king here, present everywhere one looks, the understory under study. Although the trilliums have long since flowered, the size of some of the plants is amazing. Lilies of the valley grow everywhere here on the forest floor, the damp appealing to them.

Straw lilies also, and first among our favourites, Ladies slippers, their bright pink balloon flowers held on long green stalks; eye-catching, even in the dim light of the overcast day. Where we see clusters of Ladies slippers, we take especial pains to ensure we've taken sufficient photographs.

It's a fairly long hike. We take our time. The varied aspect of the circuit, starting beside the brook, leaving it for a pine-covered flat on a height that then descends into a canopy-darkened forest where the trail rises, then descends repeatedly, exposing us to a variety of landscapes, trees and undergrowth.

We see large showy yellow Admirals and white fluttery moths, an annoyed middling-sized garter snake, holding its ground, unwilling to move at our intrusive presence. Northern thrushes sing beautifully, far off in the woods. There are patches of purple violets, great swathes of bunchberry in flower. Ferns too have sent out their peculiar flowering stalks.

A few patches of blue sky appear through the curtain of leaves. Sunlight momentarily brightens the trail ahead in luminous stripes. Wild strawberries are abloom with bright white flowers. And blackberries, as well. Areas of the trail are deep in muck, and we carefully bypass. In some areas thick chunks of helpful bridges have been installed.

There are granite rocks cast by some long-gone rockfall, close by the trail surfeit with moss, lichens, ferns and pine seedlings. Huge old carcasses of giant trees slowly moulder, twisted as though in an agony of decay. Peering into the dim interior one sees trees of huge dimension clothed in thick mossy layers. On the ground, on earth hummocks, lavish layers of bright yellow moss, resembling minuscule ferns.

The day stretches before us as we plod the trails. There will be no rain to wrench us from this nature's perfection.