Coming Home, Going Away

Time to say what everyone has been thinking: where the hell have I been? Ok, I admit, I disappeared off the face of the plugged-in world for a little bit there. I got a job in California, and I flew off at the end of the summer to take a look at that West Coast I had heard so much about. It was as beautiful and adventurous as I had hoped, but it came at a price. I had to leave home.

I've left home before, but this felt different somehow. I was no longer a few hours drive from my family and friends, from familiar and well-loved places. There was no particular return date set. I could no longer call MontAnia on any given weekend and plan an adventure in the 'dacks, the Greens, the Whites, anywhere I knew and loved. I was totally and completely out of my element. For gods sake, there were cacti there, and gluten free options. Ok fine, not complaining about the last one. 

As wrapped up as I was in west coast adventures, I kept feeling like I had left something behind. It was as though I wasn't fully there; some crucial piece of me was still back east, watching the leaves change and snuggling up in a cozy sweater. I called my friends and family back east a lot, but for every snippet of news from home I knew there were dozens that I would never hear about. Did we get any apples on the half-wild trees in our backyard this fall? Has there been a frost yet? How's the new job really going? 

As it turned out, I was only gone a little over two months when I got the opportunity to go back home (via Costa Rica, but more on that later). I drove around New England like a maniac that first weekend, catching up with friends here and there, taking in the last few yellow and red leaves that were resolutely clinging to the trees, and taking deep breaths of that gorgeous North East air. With every familiar face I felt more and more home.

It is never easy to leave home, or any place you love. Every time the thrill of an adventure wears off I am left with the realization that I have left a piece of myself in the latest place I have loved. The true price of adventure is not the dip in your savings or the time spent away, it is the piece of yourself that you leave behind with the glorious people and places you fell ever so briefly madly in love with. It's hard, and sometimes it is all I can do not run around trying to collect all those pieces I've left behind. But then I remember what those places-and those people, because friends are really all we have in this world-have given me, and leaving a piece of myself seems like a truly insignificant retribution, really. 

Sadly, it's just a short stay. I had already accepted a job out west for the winter, and as much as I missed the east, I know I'm not done exploring yet. The west is still calling my name; California is nothing if not inviting. So here's a thought: I extend that invitation to all of you. You know where I'll be, and a plane ticket isn't hard to buy. My couches, floors, and adventures are all yours to share. You just have to show up.

Okemo: Reunited at last!

Kelly and I hadn’t seen one another in months, many months. So, when she was headed back to the Northeast for a few weeks between her seasonal jobs, well, obviously, I had to see her. The fun thing about coming home after being away for a while is that everyone wants to see you. Kelly was cruising around the northeast and I was trying desperately to coordinate a time on a weekend when we both we’re free to meet up. And voilà! Sunday, it was!

We met at the Healdville trailhead for Okemo Mountain in Vermont. When her car pulled into the parking lot, we both squealed with excitement and jumped out of our respective vehicles. Yay! Happy! Happy! Happy! The hike was enjoyable 6 mile round-trip excursion, which started off quite gradually through a hardwood forest. Snow carpeted the ground, and clung to the pine boughs at the higher elevations. We talked and hiked, as we had much to catch up on. Kelly told me all about her past couple of months as a naturalist in California, and, in turn, I regaled her with tales of my 9 to 5 office job and my weekend warrior adventures (somehow my life didn’t sound quite as exciting as hers).

We reached the summit, put on our down jackets, and headed up the 70-foot tall fire tower. It windy once we got above the trees, and the metal railings were freezing cold. We popped up into the small room at the top. The window frames lacked glass, so we ducked down to stay out of the wind. Crouched on the floor, we ate handfuls of white chocolate covered coffee beans Kelly had brought back from Costa Rica for me. A delicious combination of sugar and caffeine that we quickly devoured. We popped back up to snap a few photos of the surround area at the risk of getting frostbite on our fingers. Needless to say, the California girl was not used to the bitter, biting cold typical of winter in New England.

Back down at the bottom of the fire tower, we broke out some hard boiled eggs, cracking them on the supports of the fire tower and scattering their broken shells on the snow. The hike down was enjoyable, as the trail was never very steep. We hooped and hollered, most definitely disturbing the peace and quiet of the woods that the people we passed came in search of.  Whoops. We made plans to meet up this winter in Tahoe, where Kelly would be taking her next job and where I would be escaping to for a few days. See you then, Kelly!

Mt. Monadnock: The Roar of the Mountain

The Roar of the Mountain

This mountain that roars its release from the ice

From darkness and stillness and absence of life;

now magnet to writers and hikers and westerly clouds

to litterers and spray painters and tramping crowds.

Roar grandly Monadnock, your lesson a tower

of how burdens help bearers rise to the hour.

Roar proudly Monadnock, my great granite friend

of abiding endurance and ability to bend.

Will LaPage (1989)

Eagle Crag and Mt. Meader

Eagle Crag and Mt. Meader sit between the Baldfaces to the south and the mountains of East and West Royce to the north. With an elevation of 3,000 feet and change, one wouldn’t expect much from these two. And that’s where you’d be wrong. Or more accurately, you’d be pleasantly surprised!

A group of us headed up the Bicknell Ridge trail, which branches off from the Baldface Circle trail. The Bicknell Ridge trail was fantastic; it started out somewhat gradually and then went uphill at a steady grade. About 2/3 of the way up, the trail becomes more open as it ascends rocky ledges, with great views of South Baldface across the way and, in the distance, the lakes and hills of southern Maine.

The trail rejoins the Baldface Circle trail upon reaching the ridge, just below the shoulder of North Baldface. Here, you are in the alpine zone, with small shrubs and the occasional tree to interrupt the sprawling view of the Carter-Wildcat range to the west, and the Caribou-Speckled wilderness to the north/north-east.

On this particular day, there was a dusting of snow on the ground (~ 1-2”) and small patches of ice clung to the rocks. The sky was overcast, but the ceiling was high enough to see the far off peaks of many of the White Mountains. Despite being on the exposed ridge, wind was not a factor, and the weather was much better than anticipated. Back in Massachusetts there are still leaves on the trees, but don’t be fooled winter has definitely arrived in the mountains of New Hampshire and Maine.

We followed the trail north and continued onto Meader Ridge trail, which was a rolling trail through beautiful pine forest. At the intersection with the Mt. Meader trail, there is a little spur to a view, which looks back in the direction from where we came. Despite it being around 2pm, the sun was already starting to sink as we began our descent. Ice, leaves and roots slowed us down, forcing our tired legs to search for safe footholds. The last 1.5 miles of the hike were flat, and we soon found ourselves on wide logging roads that led back to the road, a short walk from the parking lot.

Willoughby Wanderings

I was on dog duty for the weekend, which meant in addition to getting my puppy fix, I also got to escape to Vermont for a few days. My friend, Katie, and I drove up Friday night after work. Kirby Vermont lies less than 40 miles from the Canadian border. Up here, the foliage is far past peak, and the majority of trees are bare already with their leaves littering the ground.

I had found a few local hikes that looked promising. First up was Wheeler Mountain and Eagle Cliff in Sutton, VT.  

This was a short hike, a little over 2.5 miles. There were two options to ascend the mountain, we picked the red trail, which was very direct and involved scrambling over several large rock slabs. There were several instances when I just sprawled myself across a rock face and attempted to shimmy up; I called it the beached whale. Though definitely not graceful by any means, it was an effective strategy, especially when battling my fear of heights.

After the cliffs, the red trail rejoined the white trail, which continued to meander along the rocky ridge, popping in and out of the pine forest. This was one of the most beautiful, rewarding, and fun hikes I have ever been on.

And the views! The views just kept getting better as you continued. Behind us sat Wheeler Pond, and above that towered a ridge dotted with wind turbines. Straight ahead were Mount Hor and Mount Pisgah, with their steep cliffs flanking the southern end of Lake Willoughby. To the east, Lake Willoughby stretched out for several miles, and far off on the horizon stood Bald Mountain. A few wispy clouds danced in the blue sky, but visibility was impressive.

Upon reaching Eagle Cliff, we ate our snacks while we gazed out on the seemingly endless landscape that lay before us. The sun was warm, and it most definitely did not feel like November was right around the corner. After soaking up the sunshine, we turned around and headed back down, this time taking the less precarious white trail down.

Back at the car, we made a decision to drive over to the Mt. Hor trailhead near the southern end of Lake Willoughby. This hike followed a wide woods trail for a while before rocketing up the side of the mountain. We stopped at several outlooks along the way, which had views towards Lake Willoughby and the massive cliffs of Mt. Pisgah across the way.

The next day, we woke to overcast skies and cooler temps. The night before had brought rain and a dampness still lingered in the air. Fog sat low in the valley and the tops of the nearby mountains were shrouded in low-hanging clouds.

We headed to the trailhead for Bald Mountain, which sits just east of Lake Willoughby in the town of Westmore. Unfortunately, the weather made for a less than ideal hike, considering the summit has a fire tower with impressive views, or so they say… At the trailhead, we met up with an incredibly friendly woman who was hiking by herself. We chatted with our new friend for the majority of the ascent.

At the top, we investigated the cabin which was quite impressive by backcountry standards. It had a main room with a large table and stove, and a small bunk room where 3-4 people could easily spend the night. Its low ceilings and small windows meant it would be quite cozy with a few warm bodies and the woodstove running. We put on dry layers, hats and gloves.

Our friend made it to the top shortly after we did. She wasn’t quite as prepared, so we offered her some of our water and trail mix, which she gladly accepted and then she headed back down the trail. Katie and I took a few more minutes at the top, and then headed back down ourselves. The wet roots and mud made for a slow descent, filled with squeals and shrieks as we slipped and slid down the trail.