HIKED ON August 10, 2024,  27/52 WAV

If you want a tough hike just for yourself on a mountain that no one knows about...here yah go.  I had been thinking about this climb for years but kept putting it off.  Allison wanted to finish the 48 4,000 footers, after all.  Also--though I hike frequently by myself--something told me I would want a companion for this one.  Some hikes hit harder than what they seem on paper.  On paper this mountain already provides a challenge.  On the ground...it is a lot.  That said, the reward is high. 

​Mount Paugus sits relatively alone in the Sandwich range.  It is a "hiker's mountain".  Not many casual climbers take it on, preferring the better known trails and peaks around it.  The same parking lot hosts the trailheads for two 48ers (Whiteface and Passaconaway) as well as the local favorite, Mount Wonalancet. This means that you have the trail to Paugus pretty much to yourself.  The lot was full.  No one was going our way.  It is a dive into the wilderness.

I remember mentioning during my hike on the Great Glen Way in Scotland that sometimes a walk can be about water and its movement.  In that case we were on the Caledonia Canal and the lochs.  Paugus, though, was about water, too.  It seemed the whole mountain was draining down to larger rivers and into the sea.  It had the best soundtrack of water rolling over the rocks.  The streams and rivers supplied the banks with greenery. The falls themselves were evocative and beautiful.

As we climbed, we marveled at how gorgeous everything was.  We paused to rest and take pictures frequently.  We would come up on a little falls and think it couldn't get better...but then it would get better and we would pause again.  The 52 With-A-View list is about aesthetics.  Not all views are from the top.

This is where I should note that the massive amount of water eventually obscured the trail and we got lost.  Now, we have been lost before.  Most of the places we hike, things are well-marked.  However, that isn't always the case and sometimes it is easy to get confused.  Thankfully, we know what to do in these situations...

1) We got out our various direction-finding tools. Al and I have slightly different tastes in this regard.  I like a paper map and a compass.  Having taken a bearing at the parking lot and using the local features, I can usually position the map and find our general location.  Then I study it so I have a picture in my mind and plot a course.  If I am confused, I get it back out to refresh my memory and sense of direction. 

Allison prefers technology.  We have our trusty Alltrails app, of course, but if we are lost that has most likely failed us.  So we turn on our Garmin mini, which is a miracle of the 21st Century.  The Garmin talks to a satellite to pinpoint our location.  It is good, actually, to have more than one way of determining our location. After my map ritual, Al had the Garmin going.  So we knew our condition was temporary.

2) We proceeded slowly and thoughtfully, looking for signs both of the trail and the way to the peak where we knew the trail ends. The landscape, itself, gives hints to your direction.  This is particularly true if you have filled the requirements of Step #1. We listened for the sound of the river on the right so we always had a landmark we could return to.  We noted the rise and dip of the elevation, which corresponded to our maps.  

3) We worked as a team. Allison walked behind me and reminded me of any drifting I might have in the process of avoiding the many, many, ground hazards that could trip us up. We kept the mood light as well. This was a puzzle to be solved not a horrific crisis.  That may be the most important thing.  As in life, relationships matter.  In the moment we tried to maintain our relationship with each other, with the landscape around us, with the picture (or map) of the landscape, and with our goal of finding the trail.  In the end we came out on the trail about 30 yards from our target location.

A while after we made it back to the trail, we encountered the one other person on Paugus that day.  There was a trail maintenance guy happily moving dead falls and pruning back branches.  From him we learned that the water was the highest he had ever seen on this mountain.  The river we heard had, in fact, washed out and over the trail, obscuring the blazes and making about half a mile of it impassable, which was why we couldn't find it.  

Anyway, on to the top.  We had read a great deal about this hike before taking off so we had heard that the actual view was hard to find.  Indeed it was!  Once at the peak one has to turn toward a pile of rocks, go around those rocks, then take a small footpath to the ledge overlooking Whiteface, Passaconaway, and numerous other landmarks.  In a quest for the "best" view I got myself stuck on a large rock for a while.  However, it was worth it.  The air was relatively clean and we could look out on a landscape that has become familiar over the years. 

Perhaps not surprisingly, we took the other trail down.  Kelley Trail (the one with all the water) was beautiful, of course.  Old Mast (the trail down) was more mundane.  It did have the benefit of being relatively dry, though, and that made all the difference.  On the way I collected water from one of the many springs.  Partly it was because I was dehydrated and running out of the water I brought.  We carry purification pills and equipment with us for when this occurs.

However,  it was partly so that I could bring whatever was left to church. In our congregation, on "Ingathering" Sunday, we share water from places that have been important to us in our summer travels.  This seemed like a good choice. Paugus was a challenge, but also a spiritual place.  I was glad to have finally experienced it.

HIKED ON: August 7, 2024

All walks tell a story.  Most of the time we do not articulate it.  Maybe many of them are just a laundry list of errands; "I bought a coffee then walked to the office then walked to lunch," and so on.  However, some try to be more.  A person or persons get together and try to create an adventure that will underscore or celebrate the story of a place or thing.  The mid state trail is one of those walks.  The "story" gives glimpses into the landscape, economy, history and people of Worcester County.

This, of course, is the second leg of our journey.  The first--a walk through and around the Douglass State Forest--was wooded.  This hike starts in a similar way, with a few miles left of Douglass.  This area had been more heavily populated and industrialized in the early 20th Century.  Similarly to our first hike, there was ample evidence of previous habitation.  Now, however, nature is clearly in control. After the park, the trail dips between country roads and forested back yards until emerging in downtown Oxford.

Most of it was lovely.  The road parts were a bit hard on the feet but the traffic was lighter than we had feared, which was nice.  There was also a slight navigational challenge.  Maps of this route are constantly being updated as the Worcester branch of the Appalachian Mountain Club negotiates with towns, businesses, and homeowners for access to the forested areas on their various properties.  Growing up in New England I am familiar with sometimes-jealously-guarded borders.  It cannot be an easy task. That said, they seem to be doing a good job of it!  Many times our maps (we were using both Google maps and the Alltrails app) would have us on yet another road.  However, the signage informed us of another compact that squeezed a half-mile more of forest for our enjoyment. Life has been crazy lately.  However, I am tempted to volunteer for the local AMC. Right now I am grateful for their work.

As for sights, there was a nice old graveyard about halfway through the day's journey.  We stopped for our break there and re-arranged our rain gear.  The stone markers went back to the 18th Century and--presumably--the first white settlers on our route.  There were a number of working farms as well, and many rolling fields.  Much of the area reminded me of Dutchess County New York, where I worked on my grandparent's farm in the summer and fall when I was a kid.  There were roads and road crossings that required our attention but...mostly not.  In general it was an easygoing 11.5 mile trip!

A couple of notes: Be sure to bring enough snacks!  While you will be on roads for about half of this section, there aren't really a ton of places to provision. Also, consider a reflecting vest or your hunter orange gear.  The roads--not surprisingly--don't have very wide shoulders and there are no sidewalks.  I would think twice about bringing your dog for this same reason.  Also, think hard about your footwear.  The roads are hard and smooth but many of the "backyard" portions are rocky and--at least in our case--wet.  There seem to be a number of seasonal riverbeds involved in the current route. You could also make a great case for hiking poles even though there are those road parts.

Finally--as I mentioned earlier--be sure to take your time to looks for signs and blazes.  The trail is a living document and you can miss a turn easily.  We sure did. In our case we landed in a cul-de-sac and turned around.  However, in the forested sections you could end up wandering through someone's yard very easily.  A best it is a mild trespass.  At worst, you could also startle the many dogs and livestock you encounter, creating chaos for yourself and others!

All told it was a good trip.  I had been dreading the roads a bit but they were fine.  From our map it looks like the next section will be similar.  Then--north of the City ---the green spaces are closer together.  Something to look forward to...

Hiked on July 27, 2024 
26/52WAV

I held off doing this mountain for a while.  Partly because of its reputation.  Partly because I had a vision of climbing it when the Celtics won the NBA championship with Marcus Smart as their charismatic front man.  Of course the Celtics did win...but there was no Marcus Smart.  Still, it is on the 52 With-A-View list.  So even with its reputation for being sneaky-hard, I decided to check it off the list. It puts me exactly halfway on the 52WAV. My wife Allison--who tends toward the 4,000 footers--came with me.  Even she thought Smarts was plenty of mountain

Smarts Mountain--at 3,238 feet--does, in fact, punch above its weight.  The distance and cumulative elevation of this hike is comparable to that of taller mountains, like nearby Moosilauke.  I would say it is even a little bit harder than that particular 4,000 footer.  Both are among the only twelve mountains in NH with a prominence of over 2,000 feet. However, the landscape around Smarts rolls up and down. There are a few scrambles.  The bare rocks are wet.  On a personal level, we hadn't done much hiking in the last couple of weeks.  Moosilauke was my very first 4,000 foot climb while I was recovering from back surgery. I was in horrible shape and sulked most of the way down.  However, while I personally found this hike easier, I believe it has more to do with improved health than anything Smarts was able to give.

The mountain is also home to the wreckage of two different small airplanes.  Some people will bushwhack to the location of these tragedies.  I prefer to leave the sites alone.  That said, this knowledge just adds to the legend.

Our hike began at the parking lot which serves the trailhead for both the Lambert and Ranger Trails.  Lambert is part of the AT.  Most of the people we saw were well aware of this fact.  Section hikers and thru-hikers were easy to pick out thanks to their large packs.  Some stopped to chat.  Others were powering north or south with only the vaguest awareness of those of us in the "slow lane".  Regular readers will know that our son did the AT a couple years ago.  In fact, he was only a few miles away, walking north on the Vermont Long Trail.   

As "peak-baggers" our hiking experience is very different.  We met a few of our own kind as well, with well-worn but lighter gear, fully expecting to be home in bed by the end of the day. That said, it was nice to be on a mountain where--whether long distance or habitual day hikers--everyone we saw was serious about their hobby.  People knew the unwritten rules of trail use and etiquette.  The shop-talk was excellent.  This is not unusual on the less well-known peaks.  More casual walkers tend toward places like Washington, Lafayette, Monadnock, and Chocorua.  Those are all great hikes as well.  The views are fabulous.  That said, it is very cool every once in a while to be an insider.  Insider moments make all the outsider moments easier to bear. 

While Lambert was probably the more challenging of the two trails, we decided to take it up for the climb.  Near the top there were open ridges that promised encouraging views as we plodded along.  Also, the Ranger trail is notoriously muddy and wet. Given the relative humidity it was nice to be on the up with the breezes while fighting gravity.  The miles hit pretty hard but our morale was good.

While there were limited views on the way, the top is wooded.  Thankfully there is a fire tower.  We made our climb up to the top for the 360-degree view of southwestern New Hampshire and into Vermont.  Most of the mountains were harder to identify than we are used to.  The 52WAV list is broadly distributed so the peaks don't quite function as well as landmarks.  Cube--which has a great view of Smarts--was identifiable as was Mount Cardigan back on that ridge.  It was fine, though, just to look out and admire the landscape around us.

The only other remarkable thing that happened was that I took a massive fall!  After climbing down the tower my heal caught on a rock and my ankle gave way.  My water bottle went flying and I landed face-first in the midst of about a dozen fellow hikers.  They were...concerned.  However I seemed to be OK after a rest.  I have always fallen a lot on these mountains.  I'm not blessed with many athletic gifts. Maybe this is why I am used to it enough not to worry too much about the inevitable chuckles and recollections after I am out of earshot.  It is part of the experience for me.  My only concern is whether I can get down the next mountain and up the next one.

The walk down Ranger was uneventful.  The trail was buggy and wet, but easier on the lungs and joints than Lambert.  The mud was a challenge at times as were the slick rocks. Occasionally we found ourselves strolling next to a lovely stream that provided both soundtrack and visual interest. Near the end it devolved into a long, flat slog.  It always feels like the trail is a touch too long.  In the end we made it back  to the parking lot.  There we found a few section hikers refueling before heading back out.

​On the way home somebody backed into our car so instead of hitting the pub we got to fill out insurance papers.  Other than that it was a great day.  I am not sure if Smarts will be on my list again soon, but I am glad we did it.

Behold, I am doing a new thing;
    now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
    and rivers in the desert.  --Isaiah 43:19

I have been thinking about this quote from Isaiah a lot lately.  I find it reassuring to think that the Great Whatever that encompasses all of us is always starting anew in a perpetual cycle of beginnings, endings, and in-betweens.  Right now I am in the midst of endings and struggling to find the trailhead for whatever comes next.  Mostly that is an OK place to be.  However, it isn't ever easy.

Perhaps that is why I recently started a manageable new thing. Sometimes an achievable goal can help us practice for harder ones. The way the world is right now, we can all use the practice.

The Mid-State Trail runs the roughly 90-mile length of Worcester County from the border of Rhode Island to the border of New Hampshire.  I have explored a good chunk of its northern end but done very little with the space south of the City of Worcester.  Worcester is New England's second largest municipality.  However, it drops off fast, meaning that while there is plenty of road walking, most of it is in the woods.

​This project is more gentle than the mountain climbing "lists" that I spend much of my time with.  Also, Worcester County is much more accessible to me.  I can work on it when I can and put it away when I cannot. Finally, it is an area I enjoy exploring.  For the last two decades I have lived in the 'burbs.  By just heading that little bit west of my home I can pretend that I live somewhere else. I wrote up a few of those previous hikes on the trail, therefore...

​I will put a number of links at the bottom of this post so you can learn more about Mid-State!

The trail has its roots in the 1920's but came to fruition quite a bit later.  It was finally completed some time in the 1980's and is now maintained by the Worcester Chapter of the Appalachian Mountain Club.  They are always recruiting volunteers.  I should look into that. Anyway, the goal was--and is--to maintain a long trail that ties together the numerous smallish parks that decorate the maps of Central Massachusetts.  The first sections were in the North, where the road walks are not that intense.  Mounts Watatic and Wachusett are two major gems in the region going back before colonization.  As I noted in a previous post, Henry David Thoreau had some things to say about that area as well. ​Again, links to previous hikes are below.

My goal for this trail has always been to hike from one end to the other, using car-spots to prevent too much doubling back.  While I have explored it a great deal, I am a completist by nature and the gaps in my geographical mind-map bother me. My friend Sarah Stewart is doing this with me and will be providing that other car.  She actually lives in Worcester so the commute, while fairly simple for me, is even easier for her.  An added benefit is that Sarah is also a preacher, so we can talk shop without bothering our spouses.

Even though I said that we are hiking south to north, we walked this southernmost section in the other direction.  This was thanks to some complications.  First, I had a meeting, which threw a wrench into our plans.  Second...there is no parking lot at the ​actual beginning of the trail.  So, after much thought, we found that the simplest thing to do would be to start at the parking lot at Route 16, head south to the beginning of the trail, then turn north to hike a few miles back to the main entrance  to Douglas State Park, where we put our southernmost car.  In the end, it took about 7 miles of walking to complete the first 5.5 mile section.

The entirety of this day's walk occured inside Douglas State Forest.  The trail, itself, was relatively flat and featured some views of one of the few Atlantic White Cedar wetlands in the region.  Apparently there is a boardwalk over part of it.  However, if we cross it at all, it must be on a different day.  Along the way we stopped talking to listen to the birds and to notice the abundance of bear scat on the trail.  We didn't linger too much thanks to the presence of a large number of singing insects.  There were also blueberries and a blueberry-like fruit which seemed related to the "bilberries" I ate in abundance while hiking in Scotland. More research and eating is necessary...

There was also evidence of former human habitation.  Cellar holes and stone walls dotted the forest.  Also, the trail, itself showed evidence of being a road earlier in life.  I have done some research in what the area might be...but I haven't come to any great conclusions.  The next section will start in Douglas as well, so maybe by then I will have something to report.

That is all for now.  It is fun to start on a new thing, particularly one without a deadline that gets us outside, moving around, and breathing the fresh air. When the end to a beginning seems attainable. It helps with the less attainable ones, right?  In any case, it strengthens us for the journey and adventures of life.

HIKED ON June 17, 2024
​It has been over three months since I posted anything.  There are reasons that are too tedious to go into.  Suffice it to say that it was a rough spring on a number of levels and now...I feel a lot less like I am drowning in entropy.

I have been getting out to hike regularly but I haven't done anything new in a long, long time.  I went out to Purgatory Chasm here in Massachusetts where we used to take the kids when they were small.  I managed to fall there and really mess up my hip.  Then I hiked Mounts Jackson and Webster as a loop.  The same way as the time I almost slid down Jackson on the ice.  There wasn't any ice this time, which was good.  The view was just as fine.

However, I managed a new hike recently that is worth mentioning if only for its newness. It is fun to explore new trails and new vistas, after all.  It also marked--hopefully--a change in fortune for the summer.

​It was a short hike up Middle Sugarloaf.  In total--including a brief diversion toward North Sugarloaf--it took about two hours of walking time.  I picked it because of its brevity.  Allison had gone up to NH earlier in the day to hike with an old high school friend.  I, however, had work to do and left later in the day.  I had just enough time to fit this in.

Regular hikers in the area will know how to get there.  The trailhead is the first or second one--depending on how you count--off of Zealand Road which is, itself, off US 302.  The spot is easy to find and parking--unlike for the high traffic mountains--is free. A walk over a small bridge along the road leads to a right turn onto the cleverly named "Sugarloaf Trail".

To start, one follows the stream that the bridge had traversed.  I cannot find the name of it, which is frustrating.  This little string of mountains (Hale then South, Middle, and North Sugarloaf) are collectively referred to as the "Little River Mountains" but there are plenty of rivers and streams a long the route.  This stream, however, is most likely the Zealand, which the Hale Brook flows into before it meets the Ammonoosuc.  Further research is obviously necessary.  After a short time along the  stream the trail turns left and up toward the peaks of North and Middle.  There is neither a trail nor a view off South, although at slightly over 3,000 feet, it is 500 taller than the other two.

After the usual obligatory steep rocky part, the trail splits.  Left takes one to Middle Sugarloaf.  The other goes to North Sugarloaf.  The way after that is mostly flat until the final push...which is steep!  As with many "easyish" hikes it is always good to remember that there will be a moment of pain and despair before the end.

Anyway, I made it to the top where I encountered a number of old guys all hiking separately from each other with pretty much the exact same kit as me.  Apparently this is where my people hang out.  One of them told me that Middle Sugarloaf had the better view--it is my 25th mountain on the 52WAV list--so I took my time exploring the top and gazing out at Mount Hale immediately before me and the Presidentials in the distance.  Looking north I could see the Twins, two of my favorites. It was a clear day and a glorious sight.  I moved around to take in as much of the broad view as possible.  Yet another of the old guys told me we had a 270-degree panorama.  I trust him.

In the end, I never made it to North Sugarloaf.  I am sure I will one of these days when a short hike is called for.  I started over but ran out of time and ended up hiking down with one of those other old men.  He is a retired professor of botany who now lives in Northampton, MA.  We had a good chat about hiking, land preservation, and our adult children.  Then we went our separate ways.  As usual...I never got his name...

It was short, but I am glad I hustled up north in time to climb it.  I really needed a hike.  I also needed something new. It had been a long winter and spring.  It was good to be out in nature.  If I were to make a list of short-on-time White Mountain hikes, this one would be near the top.  The next day Al and I hiked Mount Willard together with her friend and it is hard to beat the view into Crawford Notch.  However, Middle Sugarloaf wasn't crowded.  Also, the company was mellow. If you just want a place to sit and eat a power bar whilst re-calibrating...this hike wins it. 

Yup.  Here is the last sermon of the series!  It was quite a trip which contributed to a bit of a work bottleneck and a couple life stressors that still haven't been cleaned up.  The great thing about nature is that in times of stress and chaos we can retreat to it, remembering our relative insignificance.  It is therapeutic and we all could use a little therapy these days...

So I started posting my "Learning From Nature" sermon series and then sort of fizzled out.  There was a big gap in the calendar between sermon #2 and sermon #3.  In there we had our Annual Meeting right after the church's "Winter Getaway" where we close the church and all head to New Hampshire together.  Then we had a guest preacher--Rev. Ciaran Osborne--for the beginning of Lent.  However, we have been back to it for a while.  Here is Sermon #3, "Let Us Not Despair."  The road to despair seems pretty short these days in many aspects of our lives.  It is important, however, to keep our eyes on the prize.  

Anyway...here it is...

I feel bad.  I thought I had finished the wrap-up for the NH48 project months ago!  Mostly I feel bad because I know that no one else really wants to hear about all these hikes.  This is for me to remember.  Still, I am storing them here.  This final collection features the last push to the finish.  Some of them were very difficult.  Others less so.  I sort of picked up in the middle of Allison's 48 list so had to go back to do the "easy" ones later.  

It was quite a time and quite an adventure.  I am glad I did it.  Anyway...if you are interested...here they are!

Wildcat D and Wildcat (A) #37 & #38
This was quite an undertaking!  We decided to hike up one of the ski trails at the Wildcat ski resort.  I suspect its presence on the slopes of Wildcat D is why the mountain has this strange alphabetized naming system.  Actual Wildcat Mountain is sometimes referred to as Wildcat A.  Anyway, there is a video you can watch if you wish.

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Owl's Head #39
One of our favorites, Owl's head has very little to offer on the face of things.  It is an 18 mile round trip--the longest hike on the list.  The trails up the mountain are not maintained.  Finally, there is no view.  However, the trip is beautiful.  You just need to plan to be out there all day.  If we were to do it again we would take two days and camp along the stream.  It would be a nice place to sit and get away from everything for a while.  There is a video for this one, too.

Post and Video

​West Bond, Bond, and Bondcliff #41, #42, #43
In an ideal world we would have ended on this two-day traverse that took us over these three peaks as well as Zealand, which we had climbed earlier.  We also climbed Guyot on our way to the bonds.  We stayed at the Guyot campsite below the peak.  This mountain was probably the best.  Again, we have a post and a video...but this is nearly the last post and definitely the final vid...

Post and Video

Waumbek #44
This mountain is also considered one of the easier ones.  It, too, rather lacks a view.  In order to get to it, however, one goes over Mount Starr King.  Starr King is named after a minister and is referenced elsewhere, particularly in my Hedgehog post.  He had a mountain named after him less for his contributions to American religion and more because he wrote "The White Hills," a proto-hiking manual that popularized the region.

The hike, itself, was pretty straightforward.  This--like Hale--was another one that Allison had already done.  However, she had nothing better to do that day and accompanied me. 

Pierce and Eisenhower #45 & #46
Al had also hiked these two before. You might recall that she started the list while I was rehabbing my back. When I hiked by myself, I frequently chose different mountains, which also put me behind.  It was a somewhat crowded day when we went up.  There had been warnings of thunderstorms--not a good mountain combo--but it became clear that if we got off early, we would be fine.  Others had figured out the same thing.

The climb up Pierce was straightforward and uneventful, though it did feel a bit more difficult that it should have.  When we rested at the top, we met a number of people.  One was from where we live.  Another was an old guy filled with unsolicited advice. Old guys giving advice is a feature of the Whites.  The one from around our part of the world joined up with us for the ascent of Eisenhower. He was a good talker. On the top of Eisenhower, we overheard an extensive debate about where to finish your 48. One side was pro-Isolation.  The other was pro-Carrigain.  We had already figured out that we were going to split the difference.

On the way back to Pierce our companion got ahead of us. We are not fast, so we waved him on as he drifted from our sight.  Anyway, it was a beautiful day on a hike that many people do much closer to the start of their NH48 adventure.  I had wanted to get back up there this winter.  However, I don't see that happening at this point. 

​Isolation #47
This hike was ridiculous.  I don't know how else to describe it.  It was long (about 15 miles) and wet.  There is about a mile or so, in fact, that is a stream you wade up and down.  That said, it was an adventure to remember.  Allison finished on the top and there was much rejoicing. On the way back we switched to crocs and waded for a long chuck in the middle.  We have many stories from this trip that no one who hasn't don that hike will understand...

This is a very popular mountain to end on.  However, I am not sure why.  It does provide a unique view but not a spectacular one.  That said, we will probably do it again some time in the next decade.

Carrigain #48
So we end on Mount Carrigain.  I chose it by process of elimination.  Al wanted to get hers over and done.  She chose Isolation.  Carrigain was what was left.  At the time it seemed a bit anti-climactic for a hike, but it will always be special to me.  It marked the end of the project and a turning to other things. 

I am a trifle annoyed, though. In order to receive the patch, I needed to write a narrative of my final hike.  I posted the narrative here on the web page.  It has been months of waiting now and I doubt that patch is ever going to arrive.  Probably some confusion somewhere...oh well...I still did it right?  

I think of this mountain every day, mostly because we named our puppy after it. Of course, most people we know think we named her after Nancy Karrigan. That's OK.  The mountain has grown on me. Whether it or the dog made that happen is immaterial at this point. It is a nice memorial to a time that I look back on with fondness...

Post

Hiked on February 10, 2024

Yes, I have been hiking.  Mostly, though, it has been in the form of long, flat, walks.  Life is chaotic sometimes. Our youngest is wrapping up high school.  The other boys are living their post-college lives. Al is reaching the final stretch of her doctorate and I am trying to spend time with everybody while doing my own work and studies.  It is hard to get away in circumstances like these.  Once you add in the puppy, things become even more difficult.  Allison says I need to have at least seven projects going on at one time or I will get depressed.  She probably isn't wrong.

We did get out with the dog to do Mount Watatic.  It is always the best.  I didn't write it up, though.  After all, I already have and the addition of Al and Carrigain--yes, we named her after a mountain--didn't add enough variety for yet another post.  This weekend, though, we climbed over South Sunapee to catch the views off White Cliff Overlook.  It was proof that there is plenty to do and see on a relatively short hike.

It is different now that the NH48 list is over for us.  In previous years during the Eliot Church Winter Retreat weekend, we would find something relatively famous.  We hiked the Hancocks one year.  Last year we went up Mount Kearsarge. This time, we just picked a trail.  Our criteria had to do with not having hiked recently ourselves along with concerns about how far we could big the pup.  In the end she was fine and we were OK.

The weather--while beautiful--was not ideal for winter hiking.  The sun was out and the temperature was in the low-50's.  During the 3.5 hours we were out, the snow developed the sort of "mashed potato" consistency that we usually try to avoid.  Maybe it is because we were out of practice, but we didn't quite gear up the way we should have in the slush.  Gaiters would have been nice snowshoes would have been better.  We left both in the car.

That said, the hike was worth it.  It was about 5 miles round trip and--like many New England trails--started steep and got steeper.  Total elevation for the route we chose was somewhere over 2,000 feet, so we certainly felt the incline! There were few places to stretch our legs so we put our heads down and soldiered on.  I will say, though, when we lifted our heads we were treated with lovely views of the forest and--through the trees--glimpses of the mountains around us.

The trail was well-blazed (orange on Newbury Trail mostly until the very end when it switched to white). With the dog leash attached to my belt, I helped Carrigain work out how to participate in our little team. She is not ready to go off-leash in a place like this and--honestly--I am comfortable following the rules, which frequently require leashes and poop-bags. The challenge is keeping her from wrapping herself--and me--around a tree.  This is easily done.  It just takes practice. She was a trooper.  It is different with a dog and I am not sure if we will be doing any big climbs together soon. Half-day walks with her are fine, though.  Al and I can do the big stuff on our own.

The view, itself was nice, too.  Of course it wasn't like the ones on the "lists".  It felt less grand and more domestic.  However, given the snow conditions and the company, I would say it was a success. I will take it.  In fact, I might do it again.

It was represented to me that some people like to read sermons rather than watch the video and this Sermon from Sunday got a few requests.  So here it is. It is slightly altered to be made readable.  However, in essence it is the same as the video in the previous post.

Knowing Nature Better
Rev. Dr. Adam Tierney-Eliot
1/28/24

Texts: 
Luke 13:6-9, 
Genesis 1, 
Fern, Bog, and Swamp by Annie Proulx

“From that family in that decade I was given a glimpse of the intricate complexities of the natural world…As I grew older and read and traveled I learned that the 1930’s were years of vile human behavior in a world that hubristically considered itself “civilized”...” –Annie Proulx

Preparing for last week’s sermon about Jonah and the whale…or the big fish…or the sea monster, my first thought, was of a children’s book that I loved when I was younger. The book I thought of is a sort of Jonah story.  At least is is a Jonah story with a twist; Burt Dow Deep Water Man by Robert McCloskey. Burt Dow continued McCloskey’s trend of stories like Make Way for Ducklings or Blueberries for Sal where the wilds of nature overlap with the powers of civilization…and somehow everything works out

Now if you don’t know the story–it was his last book and not nearly as popular as the others–Burt was a lobsterman who was also swallowed by a whale, just like Jonah. He didn’t pray for assistance though, or wait for help from anyone, like Jonah did. For Burt the “big fish” wasn’t the representation of the ancient power of creation. It was an annoyance. 

Trapped in the belly of the beast, Burt used old buckets of paint in his lobster boat and covered the whale’s stomach lining with that paint. The whale got indigestion. Paint isn’t good for wild animals. Then, Burt, the boat, and a random friendly seagull were vomited out and back into the ocean

When I was a kid–growing up at a time when we humans were more of a threat to the natural world than it was to us–I wondered why Jonah wasn’t more proactive, like Bert. I wondered why this Biblical prophet didn’t play the clever modern and outwit the big dumb whale. I think all my young friends did, too.

Now, living where we did, it was still relatively easy to look around and see the vast, diverse array of Creation–which is to say the interconnected ecosystem, human and otherwise–around us. Like Annie Proulx–although much later–we understood when we were very young that nature was something to be respected and at times feared.  After all, we had fallen through the ice. We had cracked our ribs sledding. We had broken limbs and gotten concussions falling out of trees.

However, a great deal happened to the earth between the 1930’s and the 1970’s, so perhaps unlike Proulx we also had a sense that in the end nature could be outwitted when we humans put our minds to it. We knew it could and would be bent to human uses.  We saw this in the farms next to our houses. We saw it in the municipal, state, and federal parks where we could hike and camp. We saw this human hand, too, in the Androscoggin River that ran through downtown.  When I was born it was one of the top ten most polluted rivers in the country.  It was where the mills dumped their dyes and their bleaches until the pillars of toxic foam rose above the banks, touching the bottom of bridges. It was a place where the “smell of money” –of the fumes from those liquefied chemicals–was a regular part of our lives.

Now, we knew we probably would have had fewer injuries if we didn’t think like Burt Dow. We were able to see cause and effect, after all. Also, the river–which was injurious to all of us–was already designated a national problem; receiving some of the first funds from the Clean Water Act when I was two years old. The time and the tide had just begun to turn. You see, the 1930’s of Annie Proulx’s childhood had helped to create a crisis that could no longer be ignored in the 1970’s and 1980’s. During our time we were realizing that Creation, as dangerous as it had been to Jonah and could be to the unwary, was being made more dangerous through our actions

But that idea–that we could and should control nature–was and is still ingrained in us at a young age. That idea contains within it the belief that human beings are at the top of the food chain. It is the unexamined assumption that we are the smartest and most creative species ever evolved and the spurious fact that we are destined–in the words of the Transcendentalist minister James Freeman Clarke to go “Onward and Upward Forever” through the strength of our minds.

Now, whether we actually believe this anymore–this manifest destiny of humanity–isn’t entirely clear. We have experienced a great deal, from the toxic river and the stench in the air, to the bizarre weather patterns, drought, flooding and increased risk of pandemics. This experience might change our minds about human superiority. Either way, though, the way we humans act as a group still implies this sense of superiority, separation, and control. Whether we are stewards of the earth, or its exploiters, we like to be in charge.

Now the way we debate the future of our environment assumes this belief; a belief that we are empowered to decide what nature has to give us...and arrange things to our liking. It goes at least as far back as Genesis Chapter 1 “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and every living thing that moves upon the earth.” If you want to dive into the implications of this theology you are invited to the forum after church on March 3.

Right now, suffice it to say that riding underneath the human practice of exploitation of the earth is the belief that it is ours and that we own it like we own a car. We think we can do as we see fit. It undergirds the thinking of those polluters of the river and the air as well as the folks who make the parks for our recreation.

The question both sides are asking is what services it can provide us. Is the river power for the mill and a dumping ground for waste or a place to fish for food? Is the mountain a source of nickel, or iron or coal? Or is it a place to go skiing in the winter time? One set of answers are better for the planet. However, in both outcomes, the basic question is the same… How can the earth, how can creation serve humanity? 

Of course we could also ask a different question, namely how we can be of service to it and–through that service to the entire ecosystem–be of service to humanity. We also, as human beings, have subscribed to this question, sometimes simultaneously. We do this even though it isn’t really compatible with the dominant theology–secular and sacred–that our capitalist culture projects. This other way will be the topic of the forum on March 10.

You see, there is no requirement for us to follow a rule extrapolated from an ancient story written by people who could not conceive of the industrial “advances” of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. There is no requirement that human beings stay perched on our privileged place while creation suffers “beneath” us.  Again, as I said last week, we can learn and practice not rulership but relationship.

However, that is harder to do than to keep on keeping on trodding our path to self-destruction. “Our species is not adept at seeing slow and subtle change.”  Says Proulx “There is a tree, we cut it down—we immediately recognize that there is a change. Yet we see a tree and we see it again a year later without noticing the new growth tips” 

This is where those few verses from the Gospel of Luke come in. As with many parables, it features a rich man who doesn’t know what he is doing. The confused rich man gets angry because he has this fig tree that isn’t bearing fruit. He demands that his gardener cuts it down because it is taking up space. You see, the tree isn’t serving the man so in his mind…it doesn’t deserve to live. It must be a faulty tree. However, the gardener, the hero in the story, stops him and says “Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure in it.”

He says this, because he, the gardener, is in relationship with the soil, with the tree, with the animals offstage, with the ecosystem that actually produces the fruit and actually sustains all living things. He is being patient. He is reading the signs. He is asking not “what does the ruler require” But instead, “what can we all contribute so that we all get what we need?”

The soil needs the manure from the animals. The tree needs that fertile soil. The boss…needs that fig.

This change, as we talked about last week, doesn’t arrive right away. Annie Proulx writes that “To observe gradual change takes years of repetitive Passage through specific regions week after week, season after season, noting sprout, Bloom and decay, observing the local fauna, absorbing the rise and fall of waters.” It takes time and knowledge. It takes listening and learning but then…in a years time there is the fruit…and the cycle starts again

So let us take a moment to think of the subtle changes we have seen in creation and in our own lives as we are part of creation, too…
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