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Sabbath Walks Blog

Hiking the Mt. Graces

1/13/2023

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Other people's views from this point are spectacular...I promise.
Hiked On January 12, 2023

One of my mentors in ministry told us that on his sabbath days he would put his canoe on top of his truck and drive it through the middle of town. Sometimes he would take his canoe fishing, which is what everyone assumed he was doing. Sometimes he would just paddle around and go home. Sometimes, though, he would drive his canoe to Bangor for a bagel and a coffee with friends...and maybe a trip to the seminary library.

He told this story to convey four things. First, that the people of Maine are all pantheists at heart. As a Mainer born and raised I can confirm that this is true. Second, that people may not always respect your "off" time but will do their darndest to respect your sabbath time. Third--and this is where the canoe comes in--in a town of pantheists, a canoe on your truck means you are fishing...and fishing is sacred. Finally, the lesson was that you are best off leaving the parish come sabbath-time.  That way folks will not be able to get in touch with you as easily.  Also--more importantly--you will be away from the things that draw you back to your labors.
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A bit of the early snow. It got more intense before finally trailing off for a while.
PictureThe peak of Mt. Grace
I thought about that yesterday as I tried my best to tie up loose ends in the morning and hustle out the door for my weekly sabbath hike.  "Weekly" is a New Year's goal. Unfortunately, though, I was already on "Plan D" as plans A through C were left in tatters. Mostly the problem was weather up north, but the skies in the Bay State weren't looking so bright either. Little flakes of snow on my windshield indicated that perhaps the northern storm was going to make an appearance after all. Also, my hiking buddy, Andy, couldn't get out of a meeting. So I was left figuring out how far I wanted to travel to hike in the snow by myself.

The solution was to leave New Hampshire and Maine well alone and to stay in my adopted commonwealth. A slick and wooly drive down Route 2 brought me to the somewhat obscure Mount Grace State Park and a snow-laden hike up its eponymous mountain, then over to Little Grace, and finally back to the lot.

Mount Grace isn't a bad name, but it is a bit unusual. The legend says its name comes from King Philip's War when the daughter of Mary Rowlandson died after being captured by members of the Narragansett tribe. Theoretically the mountain is named after this daughter. It is a romantic notion and ties into one of the major historical moments in and around the Pioneer Valley where the mountain resides. However, there is one glaring problem. Mary's daughter was named Sarah...not Grace. So the name of the mountain remains a mystery. That said, it is a powerful idea to ascribe to this mid-sized monadnock. Somebody in some way found grace here. Maybe we still can.

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The water-damaged view from Little Grace. It was raining and snowing by now but I took some time, backtracked to check out some elusive views of farmhouses, then had a snack.
PictureA sign for the New England Trail, a relatively short multi-day hike that I would like to do some day.
If you want to be alone in Massachusetts, drive west and go hiking in a snowstorm. There will be no people to bother you. The trail started out relatively flat but that changed quickly. It was quite a bit more elevation than what I experienced the week before. That, of course, was what I was looking for. It was the only part of Plan A that remained. Then the trail went on up along some power lines to the rather impressive fire tower. It was snowing  heavily at this point so no view was to be had. Alas! Pictures indicate it is quite nice. I will need to come back some time.  

I did get startled a bit.  When I turned around to descend the tower my long-suffering water bottle came loose and fell about 40 feet. It hit every available truss on the way down making a dramatic noise as it did so.


After finding the water bottle that had submerged itself in the snow, I turned south along a row of power lines that marked the shoulder of Grace and continued on to the smaller peak. Little Grace also theoretically offers views. Every once in a while the snow would blow and eddy away. Then I could peer down into the valley where a number of farms were perched looking for all the world like landscape illustrations in the Saturday Evening Post.

One thing worth noting is that--while this is indeed part of my "easyish" hiking list--there were a couple elements that made it challenging.  First, there was that snow, which made both visibility and footing rather sketchy.  This can be remedied by choosing a better day!  However the next thing cannot be fixed so easily. The trails are arranged so that if you decide to climb both peaks and loop back to the parking lot, you will be climbing up pretty close to the end. 

On a traditional morning climb you go up and then down.  This trail rolls up and down quite a bit, which might not be everybody's cup of tea.  In the end--according to my imperfect calculations and because of some diversions I took--my total elevation for the day was around 1,500 feet.  The feet came in installments across the miles instead of all in one massive climb, but that is more than a number of mountains on the 52 With a View list, including the "starter" peaks of Willard and Pemigewassett which I, at least, found easier than this.  You can make it...but I confess to swearing a bit when I hit the last climb of consequence.


The loop took me down the side of Little Grace and back around to the parking lot. It was a journey of small views, evocative precipitation, and unsure footing. However, I am glad I got out. Once again, for the second week in a row, I had the place to myself. I do not doubt that the pantheist in me appreciates this. I feel like I am keeping the spirits company on a cold, wet, lonely day. They certainly appear to be keeping mine.

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My car in the lot. Proof that the place was all mine for the day!
The word "grace" has a number of meanings. In common usage we usually think of dancers or athletes, or people who are particularly well-spoken or well dressed. Perhaps those cues are why we tend to think of wealthy people as graceful even when we do not have much evidence to go on. Also, being gracious is what you try to do when someone else is being a boorish. These are all social, societal qualities. However, in the church where I spend my time, grace indicates the unmerited favor of the Divine. For Universalists--and I serve a congregation that is, among other things, Universalist--this grace is extended to everyone.

The old-man funny, curmudgeonly, front-door thing to say now would be that grace was hard to feel on a day with heavy snow and no views. I certainly didn't feel graceful...but I won't go there theologically. There was plenty of grace to be found on these two mountains.  In the dynamic display of nature going about its business all I saw was grace. Sure, I saw and felt a whole lot of nature, too.  Yet the fact that both were present is not coincidental.

I do not love winter hiking, but I love this grace that is sometimes hard to
immediately locate in people and  in the institutions people make. Yeah we all have it, or have access to it anyway. It is "freely given" and I don't mean in some reductive Christian sense. Grace is just present all the time for all of us. Mostly we don't experience this presence.  It takes time and the cultivation of relationships to see and feel it around us. It takes the growing of love between each other and within ourselves. This wild morning reminds me of the blessing of grace. Maybe it will help provide the charge forward for another week.

I suspect that on those trips to Bangor my old mentor also snuck some work in on his sabbath day.  I get that too.  After my hike I spent the afternoon wearing out my welcome in a number of warm dry places where I could write.  The draft of this post was one thing.  Another was the draft of my sermon for Martin Luther King weekend.  The morning reminded me that finding grace in ourselves and each other is more than an attempt at personal wellness.  It is instead an important attitude on the path toward justice.  Grace leads to love and love to trust then on to community...or at least that is the direction the sermon went.

​May we all find ways to be this kind of graceful; not pretty and charming but bold and challenging as we expand and strengthen the web of connection--the world community--that surrounds us.
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The last writing stop, where even the stale donuts were gone...
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Moving Again: Crow Hills Ledges Loop

1/9/2023

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The whole trip had a soft mist or a gentle downpour. Very evocative...
PictureRock Tripe has a great name. It is edible, sorta, if you boil it enough to remove its flavor and "purgative properties" but it has indeed saved lives. Also, this one looks a bit like a dragon...
Hiked On January 5, 2023

It is hard to get going sometimes, isn't it?  Getting ready for church on Epiphany Sunday even my brain felt bloated and out of shape.  Two Sundays went by without a service.  How do I do this again? Why do I do this?  In the end it was fun.  I preached about beginnings and about not falling back into the same old ways of last year.  After all, the old patterns may not be so hot. The band also did a pretty good job leading Good King Wenceslas. It is ostensibly a Boxing Day carol --"Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen"--but really it's just cool folk tune about the legendary Duke Vaclav of Bohemia. 

Anyway, hiking is like that too...but worse.  I mean, it has been over a month since I put in any really serious reps hiking.  I have been to the gym a handful of times and did those Solstice Walks but sometimes I worry that I won't really get back up to climbing shape. This isn't my favorite time.  You know this. I would rather hike in "shoulder season" in the spring.  Winter is here, though, and getting out is important.

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There was no view, really, from the ledges. However the fog accentuated the foreground nicely.
PictureNear where the cliff climber was.
On Thursday I concluded that I could probably clear a few homiletical cobwebs as well as partially arrest my downward slide in health and fitness by taking a good walk. Maybe I could shock myself back into action! I put my heavy pack on and drove back out to the Leominster State Forest.  There I  continued the loop that I started a couple weeks earlier.  The total hike was about 3.8 miles and 600ish feet of total elevation.  So not a big climb.  However, I am out of practice. My knees hurt at the end.

The thing about this loop up the Crow Hill Ledges is that it features a short, steep  section at the very beginning. I guess it could be at the end instead if one takes the loop the other way. I like to climb up rather than climb down, though.  So I always choose the hard part first.

​After that things roll a bit along a long ledge.  There are obscured views through the tree trunks that wouldn't be there the rest of the year.  On this day, though, many of them were still socked in a bit by rain and fog.  The crisp, clean wintery air had been replaced by, well...shoulder season weather. It felt like early spring.

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Still, it was more than nice to be out and about.  Parks like this are very popular on nice days, so a little inclement weather meant that I had it to myself for the most part.  There was a college kid scaling the massive cliffs and a couple different people walking their dogs on the flat.  There was also the constant sound of traffic from Route 31.  That aside, though, the fog added a mystical quality to the hike.  The landscape--now wet with rain rather than covered with snow--looked very different from the last time I was there.  Once again I wandered about a bit, exploring the side-trails and looping around the local swimming hole still holding on to a little ice in spite of the relatively warm winter weather.  I felt like I could spend all day there.

In the end I didn't spend the day.  In fact, it was already pretty late when I arrived!  Technically Thursday is my sabbath.  However a variety of errands and tasks early in the week--start up stuff for the church mostly--had pushed quite a bit of work into the morning.  Once again this made me late.  Just like last time I found myself pulling out my headlamp on the way back.  The rain had made the journey a perpetual dusk until the dark appeared. Then I drove to a Dunkin' Donuts for dinner and to write my sermon. 

Still, at least I achieved my goal.  I got out and did a thing.  I had a small adventure.  I cleared my head enough to get the most creative parts of my job done.  Maybe this trip will beat back the inertia.  Maybe this year won't entirely be a slog after all.

Here is that Wenceslas...

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New Year's Wrap: Fave Gear

12/31/2022

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Gear is often necessary but also sometimes fun! Here is my brother Dan showing a guy his cool mountain identifying app on Mount Chocorua. He drew quite a crowd..
I got up early the other day and went back north to Maine to visit family. We hadn't been for a while and the personal landscape has changed a bit. Still, it was nice to be home. We only had so much time for a tour of various households. Some relations--like my mom--had moved since we were there last. Others were right where we left them. It was all good. So much in life can feel unstable these days. Everyone I know, it seems, is in transition. Seeing people who you have known forever reminds you that while the trappings are altered somewhat, you still have a place, even if it is more relational than physical these days.  I may not have spent a huge amount of time in some of these spaces...but my people are there.

This relational feeling is not unlike the one I get from being outside. There is plenty that doesn't quite fit each time, but, still, one is locked into an extended network where a place for humanity--and for individual humans--still exists. Lately it has been hard to get outdoors. It will be for a while longer. Weather, time, work, and the desire to be with family currently create a number of barriers that are hard to overcome. Oh well...it will happen...eventually. Until then there is preparation and staying in shape.

One aspect of preparation involves going through my backpacks and taking a look at all the gear I have for hiking. Some of it needs to be cleaned. There are a couple items I wonder if I really need. There are a few that must be replaced. Whenever I get back out it would be best to have the right stuff. 

​Staying in shape, on the other hand, means getting back to the gym and slowly heading back out into the winter world...
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Inverlochy Castle outside of Fort William in Scotland. That hike was a peak experience of the year!
PictureTwo Gregory Packs in their full glory on the coldest hike of our year up Mount Liberty. You can see some of the extra straps for carrying snowshoes and other gear. Mine is the blue one. Al's is one size up.
For the next year-end list I have five pieces of kit that I was super grateful for. Some of this stuff becomes a part of you on a long walk. Some of it may be or feel a bit more of a burden at times. Some of it never does. Anyway, here they are, in no particular order.
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Backpacks: OK... Maybe there is a bit of an order. You aren't going to get far without a good pack. I actually have four. One--a 40 liter Osprey--is really my travel bag but those straps are super-helpful for pushing through train stations and airports. Another is a 20 liter day pack from LL Bean that folds up super-small. Before my back injury, that was my go to day pack. Post-surgery, everything must have a frame now. I still make use of it. I just take it to the gym.

With that out of the way, my current hiking kit includes the remaining two bags. I switch them out seasonally. That said, the seasons aren't even and there are times when I need to carry more stuff than a basic day pack can handle.  Usually this means I defer to my "winter"--and most of spring and late fall--pack; the Gregory Zulu 40. A 40 liter pack isn't actually that large. It wouldn't get you much farther than an overnight, but--considering how I hike--this one has fit the bill for a couple years. You need a big pack when it starts to get cold.  I found that this year, for example, I had to put my smaller bag away in mid-September. Over the course of our partnership, I have added some after-market straps and usually carry a couple bungee cords. There are always extras, like sandals, wet socks, or snowshoes that need to hang outside.

The Gregory has a couple years on it. This year, however, I also got a summer pack for our hike across Scotland. We were staying in B&B's so there was no need for the extra camping capacity. Also--concerned about the longer days and what the weight would do to us--we planned to carry mostly water and one extra layer. For this purpose I used the Osprey Talon 22. At 22 liters it was close to half the capacity of the Gregory. It turned out I could carry quite a bit more than I thought, so I took advantage of the space. There is a partial list of my daily payload in the wrap up--linked in this paragraph--from that trip. However, it is still a slightly lighter frame pack that kept me honest about what to bring. It is best for either when hikes are in fair weather and close to resources or straight up during the summer months.

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Me in Scotland with the Osprey Talon 22, just one pole that had the kind of clamp I don't like (see below), and my annoying boots. At least the pack was good.
PictureWet day coming down the Horn...dry feet.
Boots: OK, this is a simple one. Boots are a personal decision based on the shape and size of individual feet.  I used two pairs this year with mixed success. I made a mistake in my selection of boots for the Scotland hike. I thought something with a softer sole would help with the hard roads.  It did...but the boot was less breathable which was a problem during Global Warming Summer. I would have been better off with something more durable or more breathable. I will not dwell on that.  You can check out the post I linked in the last section.

The good news is that my other pair are Lowas. I like them very much, though they did need inserts. They are all leather which somehow made them more breathable.  Also, they kept me dry under some hideously damp circumstances.  Once your feet are wet there is no happiness. I dread having to replace these boots as they have been downright perfect for my needs.


​Hopefully they are perfect next time as well. Boots are expensive...

PictureHere is an assortment of poles, mostly from REI or Hiker Hunger. There is a beat up one that journeyed on the AT with a thru-hiker but couldn't be taken on the plane. Note the cork handles--to keep your hands dry--and the basic looking clamps for adjusting height.
Hiking Poles: Here is a piece of equipment that I didn't expect to rely on as much as I did. Boy, do they make a difference! I was using these a bit even before my back injury. Now I rarely take a hike of any consequence without them. My suggestion is to always use two. That will help to balance you out. I use them both for ups and downs. Some do one or the other. Either way, they take pressure from your knees and make your arms work a bit harder. This is all to the good.

Most hiking poles work just fine. Do yourself a favor, though and skip thinking about using ski poles. They are not the same!  Hiking poles are adjustable and built for taking a ton of weight for a longer time. These days my go-to poles are from Hiker Hunger. I like the carbon fiber. This is partly just because they are a tad lighter, more durable, and take the shock a bit better. I broke a metal pole by landing on it.  That also may have biased me.

There are slight variations in design to think about if you want to. I prefer cork handles and a simple clamp for adjusting height. There are some which have sleeker looking mechanisms where you twist an invisible squeeze thing.  They look sleeker, but the mechanics on the inside are impossible to repair and more likely to break.  With most hiking equipment simplicity is a virtue.  It should be possible to tighten the clamp at the joints with a phillips head (that you should bring with you if this is the case) or with your fingers (as on the Hiker Hunger models).  If you zoom in on the picture above you will see what I am talking about.

PictureThat orange thing that isn't a hat is the Garmin. Bringing that was the wisest thing I did on my solo hike up Jackson and Webster.
Garmin Mini: There isn't a ton to say here. this is a device that connects to a satellite to give you directions and communicate with the outside world. We rarely use it, preferring phone apps like AllTrails and actual physical maps that don't need charging. That said, the Garmin has an SOS function which could be a lifesaver if you get stranded in a spot where your phone doesn't work.  Some hikes have few to know dead spots.  Others--like those in Baxter State Park--rarely have cell coverage. The Garmin gives us piece of mind that we don't have to use. Al and I have one that we share, because...it is pricey.

PictureOK...this was pretty wise, too. These are my Kahtoolas on Jackson and Webster.
Micro-Spikes: On the hiking socials there are a lot of arguments about which kind to use. Basically, though, they are chains and pointy things with elastic frames that fit over your boots. This time of year they are super-important to have in your bag. We always carry micro-spikes starting in November if we are expecting to climb. For how we hike, they are even more important than snowshoes (also necessary in some situations). Ice can really mess a person up.

There are really only two brands that you want to find yourself depending on. They are made either by Kahtoola or by Hillsound. Do NOT try to save money here if you can help it.  There are cheaper brands but I, at least, worry about getting stuck somewhere sketchy with nothing more than a pile of broken elastics.


For winter hiking one might also want crampons (big spikes) or an ice-ax. Al and I use micro-spikes and just assume we aren't doing hikes that require more than that. We do like to know our limits!  Maybe someday we will trade up.  That Jackson hike was an eye-opener.  It was the first time I missed having an ax. I have also found micro-spikes helpful on shorter trips where there is little ice but quite a bit of packed down snow.  That extra traction keeps one from slipping back and wasting energy.

Well that is all for now! Obviously there is a lot of other gear one could bring up here. these are just my favorites. Honorable mentions can be given to my trekking towel, the oft-used water purification tablets, snacks, and snowshoes. Maybe I will get to those later, but these are the big ones or 2022...

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One last peek at the Gregory backpack and the Hiker Hunger poles. They were all pretty constant companions this year...
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New Year's Wrap: Top Hiking Books

12/26/2022

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The Mighty Quinobequin--also known as the Charles River--as it flows through my neighborhood on the second day of Christmas
I commenced the second day of Christmas by discovering the Latin and colloquial names of my houseplants. Then I made coffee. Then I went for a walk. On my walk I started to make a plan for surviving the next two months. As you may have gathered from my previous post, I am not at my best in winter.  I must find ways to move from one thing to another, to another...

There is no reason to delve too deeply into all that again. It is just a fact of life that requires a certain amount of organization. Organization, however, is something I am very bad at. So I have some time between now and Epiphany to figure out an approach. No doubt it will involve being out in nature. There will be hikes, of course.  Also, my Christmas gift to myself was a stack of gardening books so I can solidify my gains from last year. I have a tab open with tomato seeds! For part of the season I will be working at a job I usually enjoy. Then--for a little while at the end when I am most despairing--I will be on sabbatical.

So much of this time can feel restrictive. Hibernation-brain is right there picking away at our resolve. The trick is not to keep busy for busy-sake but to find ways to be excited about...something, even though it might take a herculean effort to get going.

One of the the things I will try to do is make some "top" lists for the new year that I can share with you. It is actually a big help for me and, maybe, you will enjoy it too. The ranking lists for blog posts and such is canonically around "Mount Roberts Day" when I began this project. These ones are more specific to the background of the project. To start, here are the six (6) most influential books I used this year for planning hikes and walks or planning for planning...if that makes sense. Some are trail guides. Some are practical, and one is historical. They have all been consulted before, after, and during hikes. Some of them are quite beaten up now as they have lived for a time in my backpack. I will hopefully deal with more speculative books and maybe even equipment in later lists....
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1) New Hampshire's 52 With A View: A Hiker's Guide by Ken MacGray.

Ok so I have talked about the New Hampshire and New England "Hiking Lists". They exist elsewhere of course, but I don't so these are the ones I know best. My favorite list is the "52WAV". They range from relatively easy--you do have to be in shape--to rather brutal. Each one, though, comes with a view. The list is subjective. It is curated by a committee and so far their taste in views has been spot on.

Ken MacGray is a bit of an insitution. He has worked on a number of other hiking books and runs the Facebook page for the 52 group. His prose is accessible and clear while also being entertaining. Even though I have climbed more 4,000 footers in New Hampshire--the 52's are a bit of a me project right now and I like to hike with people--this is my favorite book and my favorite list. Five stars, buy it. Start with Willard.

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​2) Climbing New Hampshire's 48 4,000 Footers by Eli Burakian.

Actually there are more that 48 4,000 foot mountains in New Hampshire so--while the 48'ers like to pretend at objectivity--this list is subjective, too. This is the basic book for the task of hiking all those mountains. It contains suggested routes and maps. Maps are a plus, by the way. MacGray's book assumes you have separate maps on you--and you should--but it is nice to have these as well. I have used the routes in the book when planning. Most of the time I have taken the exact route. At other times I have modified my route using another book--in the honorable mentions--and/or those maps. The text is brief and to the point, which I like.

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3) Appalachian Mountain Club Guide to Winter Hiking by Yemaya Maurer and Lucas St. Clair.

I am in the process of re-reading this book right now. There is a great deal of difference between hiking in winter and hiking the rest of the year. It is imperative that we know at least the basics of what we are doing. I do not camp in winter, but those sections are good to be familiar with as well just in case you find yourself having to be out overnight. The presence of roads into the wilderness sometimes confuses us as to how at risk we are. Just because we can reach the foot of Presidentials in a couple hours does not mean we are strolling on the local rail trail.


This book covers the basics that one needs to know to be relatively safe and comfortable in the ice, snow, and dangerously low temperatures. There is some practical philosophy as well. I found the description and use of equipment, tips on reading the weather, and the basics of layering to be the most useful. The authors make you feel like you are part of a team, namely a team of prepared and educated winter hikers.

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4) In High Places with Henry David Thoreau by John Gibson

This is the history book I was telling you about. It also has routes and maps! I am a big fan of Thoreau's writing--he will appear on a different list--and when I have managed to walk in his footsteps I have found this book to be indispensable. However, this is not a general book. The mountains picked are rather niche, thanks to the subject matter. Thoreau--who walked a great deal--needed to have spent some time writing about them in order for them to be included here. However, my readers will note the Thoreau-heavy blog posts for Katahdin,  Washington, and Wachusett. I gotta get back out to Greylock, and when I do...this book is coming with me.

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5) 50 Hikes in Massachusetts by Brian White and John Brady

Yes, there are hikes right here in the Commonwealth. When I feel like heading out but do not know where to go exactly, this is the book I take. I used it as recently as Thursday when I went to Leominster State Forest. Pretty much any hike in Massachusetts I have taken has been planned using this. It has maps but I often diverge a bit. This has nothing to do with their quality! It has more to do with my confidence with lower elevation hiking. I do, however, plan those alternate routes in advance as well...and I have detailed maps. Spontaneity isn't always a good idea in the wild.

​Another great thing about this book is that it has many easier hikes. This, alone makes it worth having. Hiking doesn't have to be a toxic race to the highest, most dangerous peak. That is not very sabbath, after all...

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 6) Field Guide to North American Wildflowers: Eastern Region by the National Audubon Society

​I picked this up out of envy. My brother Dan--who features largely in many of my posts--is a wildlife biologist. Hiking with him is a hobbit-like excursion where I follow him around as he identifies birds by their song, animals by their poop, and plants by their leaves, needles, bark, and roots. I wanted to get in to the game myself. What a great way to enhance one's dialogue with nature!

Anyway, I love this book. It takes a while to figure it out because it relies on the reader knowing at least the basics off what they are looking at. That said, I have enjoyed it during my sabbath breaks on smaller mountains. If you know anything from my various posts, sermons, and so on, you know that it is that it is OK to enjoy something you aren't good at. Also, I think it is helping me get better....

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Honorable Mentions:

Here are two more that are deserving of note. The first is The 4,000 Footers of the White Mountains: A Guide and History by Steven Smith and Mike Dickerman. This thing is the Bible of the 48'ers. My wife swears by it. When I go off the suggested trail in the Burakian book, I always consult this. It only gets an honorable mention because I don't seem to use it as much. It is dense. There are no helpful maps. However, it has one big advantage that the other book does not; there is a winter description for each mountain. Had I consulted it before hiking Mount Jackson, I might have been more prepared for the icy ledge and the high winds that greeted me.

Finally, I wanted to mention the thin book entitled "Guide to the Wapack Trail" by the Friends of the Wapack. I have mentioned this trail before. It begins on Mount Watatic and runs to the Pack Monadnocks straight through some of my favorite landscape in the world. It is a long day hike--21 miles--or can be done in pieces. I would love to take a day and do it this year...

Anyway, that is all for now.  You got me through my morning! I hope your Christmas is going well...  :-)

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Praise on Webster and Jackson

11/21/2022

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Most of my best pictures were from Mount Webster because I wasn't busy falling down.
HIKED ON NOVEMBER 14, 2022

Yesterday was "Thanksgiving Sunday" which is the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  It was lovely and peaceful and--at least for me--quite moving.  Today, however, I am on screech.  Thursday is actual Thanksgiving, then Sunday is the beginning of Advent.  There is so much to do.  All I see is a long string of tasks stretched out until December 26.  This is not unusual for any of us, particularly for clergy, so I am putting my head down and getting on with it.

That said, I did hike Mount Jackson and Mount Webster a week ago in a freak snow situation.  The weather--which was unseasonably warm--had turned on a dime.  Al got sick. I had a reservation in New Hampshire. All this added up to a very beautiful, very cold, very slippery hike!
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This stand of trees were on the ridge between Jackson and Webster in one of those quiet places you find even on the windiest days.
PictureOne of the many stream crossings that probably wouldn't be that difficult...except for the ice.
There are plenty of things that I would do differently.  I would have perhaps not gone.  I would have done better research (I was planning on a different I hike with Al).  However, I did go.  I do not love snow but I have done quite a few winter hikes at this point.  I knew it would be gorgeous at the top and that the trails themselves would have a lot to offer.  The only thing that gave me any pause was that I was by myself.  With that in mind, I double checked my pack, put on my microspikes, and went on up.

It turned out that--while I passed two people heading down Webster--I was the only one hiking Jackson on this particular day.  It is a popular mountain.  It is rare to have it to oneself. The sound of the high wind in the trees and the rush of water under (and over) the ice created the background music to my solo climb as I negotiated some deadfalls and, of course, the icy stream crossings.  I was careful and took lots of breaks, too.

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Taken near where I fell on Jackson. That flat-looking thing to the left is the ridge I took to Webster.
Finally I reached the tree line.  What followed was a brief period of complete chaos!  I was pushed around by the wind.  I later learned that the wind chill put the temperature at -2 degrees Fahrenheit.   My hat almost blew off.  I got turned around and--most exciting--I fell and slid on the ice while trying to avoid the worst spot.  It was chaotic but--thanks to the speed of falling and the need to figure out what to do so as not to freeze to death--I kept moving.  In fairly short order I found my way to the peak and then started down toward Webster.

Those few moments of free-fall, though, became my reflection for Sunday.  Every once in a while I have the experience of a sermon, prayer, or reflection coming to me in its whole form.  This was one of those times.  Collecting myself before trying to stand, the first few ideas came to my head.  We humans are always grateful for the peace--in this case an extremely dramatic and windy peace--after a fall.  Time stopped while I sat there on the edge of the earth.  All I experienced was the smallness of me and the vastness and danger of what was around me.

By the time I got to Webster my reflection was pretty much formed.  I am sharing it here, both because it tells the story and because it shows how a sabbath walk can have influence way beyond the moment...
PictureThe ledges on Webster
I did question the reading, though.  "Praise Song" by Lucille Clifton is a poem about a child's impression of an elder's suicide attempt.  Still, it was the poem that came to me when I was recovering from my spill.  Something about being welcomed without judgement, like a child welcomes--or like God does--stuck with me.  I leave up to individual theologies as to whether I had to use it.  However I did. 

There are a lot of different ways to fall, after all. Each time we are saved we crave the welcome and assurance.  We are grateful for how we made it through the crisis or the climb.  We give thanks and praise the acts of kindness and love--from ourselves and others--that we experienced in the darkness.

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In a way there isn't much to say, except that the ridge between peaks was spectacular.  So, too, was the view--from a much more secure perch--off Mount Webster.  On the way down I passed a few more people sensibly just doing the smaller mountain.  None of them were by themselves.

I also witnessed a beautiful waterfall on the way down.  Snow really does its job on the landscape, making it feel other-worldly. This is our world, though.  That is another thing to be grateful for.

Winter hiking, itself, is beautiful.  Solo hiking is special and dramatic.  That said, I will keep my solo winter hikes to the 52 With an View list and look for companions on the big mountains going forward.
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Wolfe's Neck and the "Easy" Walk

11/9/2022

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This is "the spot" early on the hike. If you can get it to yourself you can sit on those rocks all day and watch the tide. It is high tide in this pic.
PictureMy cross country team used to run on that island and look across to the park. Most people are tired of me telling them that story. You can be tired of it too.
I always expected that hikes and posts would drop off once work started up again, but I guess I didn't realize how precipitously.  I promised myself to do a "big hike" every week or so and post regularly on various topics.  Instead life caught up.  Ministry is an emotional business sometimes.  The various arenas of parish life require commitment in multiple ways.  Essentially, there are things that must be done to aid a changing church and changing lives of church members.  I haven't been able to get away for extended periods of time. 

Man...I would love to though...

That said, I have been able to take a few smaller walks and hikes. The most challenging one involved a treadmill and an elliptical at the YMCA.  The most meaningful one for me was Wolfe's Neck Woods State Park, just outside of downtown Freeport in Maine.  This is one of those places I went often as a young person.  It was relatively close to where I grew up.  We would have picnics here regularly. Later, when I went to a private high school, the park was on my way home. Back then I would sometimes go running here to stay in shape for the worst cross-country team in the state. 

​Then, when I, my siblings, and our significant others worked in the "outlet heck" of Freeport, we would sometimes take our picnic breaks here.  Family members who worked at a sandwich shop would bring the food.  Then we would drive home...to the same house, because we lived with our parents.  In that group a number of our "first dates" happened here. Oh yes, there was camping involved, too...

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Through the trees you can see the innocent-looking island where the ospreys nest. One of the first lessons I ever got about the power of nature was a warning not to go over there because the ospreys would attack you. There have been plenty of stories about people--sometimes arrogant, sometimes drunk and arrogant--doing just that and ending up in the hospital.
PictureYou can just see my mom in this picture. She loves hiking and loves Wolfe's Neck. Our connection to both the practice and the location has to do with her.
The path, itself, is not all that difficult.  It winds from the picnic area along the coastline.  There isn't a beach (thank God) so it is a hiker's park, mostly. The range of the tides is pretty extreme, so the view constantly changes.  Also, there are many spots where one can turn back to the parking lot if necessary.  It can be a pretty convenient feature if schedules or abilities differ. During this most recent trip on an unseasonably warm day, my niece had to head home after a while to get ready for school, so she just turned off and we continued on.

There isn't much to say about the walk we took.  It wasn't very technical.  I nabbed a geocache.  We spent time with family, like we always have here.  Then we went back the way we came.  However, it does bring up a subject that I have been reminded of frequently in this project.  That, my friends, would be accessibility. 

Many of the hikes I list on Sabbath Walks can be challenging for some people.  I forget that.  Probably that is because the hikes are also challenging for me and I do not think of myself as much of an athlete.  As a slow hiker, there are plenty of people to remind me on every trip large or small that it is harder for me than it is for them.  That is how people roll; one-upping each other with abandon.  

It turns out that there is a degree of difficulty in what I do--even on Mount Cube or Hedgehog--that is worth recognizing.  It might be that for some people the challenge makes those hikes less relaxing than they should be for a sabbath walk. 

​The big accidental secret is that I take a lot of shorter or easier walks. It's not just Wolfe's Neck!  I just didn't know anyone would be interested. With that in mind--and to reveal where I go when I am not climbing a mountain--here are some of my other favorite easy (or easier) hikes, some of which I have done more times than I can count...

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This is from one of my favorite pond hikes, Long Pond in Athol, MA.
OK...one further note.  No walk is really "easy."  There is always a challenge.  The trick is knowing what you are up for and what you think you can manage on any given day.  When I injured my back all the hikes on this "easy" list were off the table for a while.  For some people they may always be just manageable or not manageable.  Know thyself, thy interests, and thy ability.  If these seem a bit too easy, I recommend my Easyish Hikes list.

Also...again...know you are hiking your own hike. Sometimes someone else thinks you are a loser for accomplishing something they think is beneath them.  I have been on the receiving end of hiker toxicity more than once, myself. That is on them.  You don't need their insecurities to harsh your vibe.
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Ridge Hill Reservation, Needham, MA
I credit this trail with much of the progress I made rehabbing my back.  However, my relationship with it starts way before my injury. When I need to think and then get right back to work, this is where I go.  The trails here can sustain a hike of anywhere between 1/4 mile to 3 miles.  It is dog-friendly and--unlike some parks not on this list--the dog walkers keep their furry friends relatively under control. 

There are no epic views here. However, there is a lovely boardwalk through a wetland. Most importantly: do not miss the area across Charles River Street from the parking areas!  It is oft-forgotten so there are fewer people.  Also, it takes you down to the Charles River, which is always pretty.

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Oliverian Brook Trail, WMNF, NH
​I hiked this one in the rain, but I have to say that the river was very pretty and--in an area of relatively tough climbs--it was a good cool-down.  I sat by the brook for a while.  On a pretty day I could see spending even more time there quite happily.  If you are stuck in the White Mountain National Forest and don't want one of the many riskier hikes available, just tell your friends you are doing this and will meet up with them after.

Note that this is an out-and-back.  The same trail leads to some relatively easy--but more challenging than this list--ledges.  Also, if you make the wrong turn you could end up on the butt-kicking slopes of Mount Passaconaway.  Turn around when you are ready.  You really call the shots.

By the way, it gets a mention on my Mount Hedgehog post.  Hedgehog, itself, is "easyish" and these trails could make a nice two-day combo.

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Broadmoor Wildlife Sanctuary, Natick, MA 
In the Covid era this extremely popular sanctuary required a reservation.  It may still.  Also, if you are not a member the Audubon Society, it will cost a you a tiny bit.  That said, I love this place!  I have hiked/snowshoed here in all kinds of weather.  There are trails that make cute 1/4 mile loops and longer arrangements as well. 

​This also borders the Charles River.  I have passed the farthest flung trails from time to time in my canoe.  If you like turtles do check out the various observation areas in the wetlands near the parking area. Finally, be warned, since the plague this place has been packed on the weekends.


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Cochituate Rail Trail, Natick/Framingham, MA
One warning about this one...it is paved.  ​This is a multi-use trail that is probably best on a bike but walkers can enjoy it too.  It serves as a pedestrian/bike path for commuters.  You can hit the mall.  It leads to the back gate of Cochituate State Park.  I made a loop of it from my house--which came to around 9 miles--in order to train up for the Great Glen Way road walk portions.  Worked great. 

​Be warned ​that the hard surface can do a number on your feet if you go the whole way.

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Mount Agamenticus, York, ME
This is the "hardest" of these easy hikes and it is the only one that has its own entry on this blog.  I will refer you there for details.  Still, it was very accessible and there were plenty of trails that skirt the mountain, itself if that feels like too much.
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Long Pond Loop (Tully Lake Reservation) Athol, MA
This loop is also on the challenging end of easy.  There is an optional tiny mountain to consider.  That said, it is one of my absolute favorites of all time.  It follows Long Pond just north of the much-busier Tully Lake. There are views both over the pond and up on the tiny mountain.  It is also the longest on this list at about 7 miles.  Unlike the rail trail, you cannot really bail out, which is a consideration.  That said. it is very doable if you give yourself enough time.

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Bradbury Mountain State Park, Pownal, ME
I have mentioned this one before as well.  I spent a huge amount of time here growing up.  One of my brothers worked as a summer ranger here as well.  This tiny "mountain" has a great view of the towns and villages where I grew up.  Trust me, though, you will like it even if you are from away. Also, yes, my high school cross-country team ran here from time-to-time as well. 

​As with Wolfe's Neck and Broadmoor, there is a fee to get in.  The shortest trail to the top is about .4 miles.  However, I usually take the perimeter trail that makes the whole experience closer to 3 miles.

That is all for now!  It was nice getting to think about these special places.  I have already been to Ridge Hill once this week. Maybe I will head over again soon...
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What is a Sabbath Walk?

10/24/2022

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PictureI cannot think of interesting things to say about my Mount Israel hike so I am using some pics from that trip on this post. It was nice...just very wet.
Well...it happened.  I am back at work after 5 weeks of a sabbatical filled with hiking, writing, and reading.  I have to say that I enjoyed it. I also learned a great deal about interacting with the natural world which, of course, was the point.  I find it is good to have goals even in an ostensibly less-structured time.  I like being able to look back and see what I did.  Among other things, I hiked 35 of New Hampshire's 48 4,000 footers and 18 of New Hampshire's "52 With a View" mountains.  I have written about many of them here. Not bad.

This is my third sabbatical.  After every sabbatical at least one person will use the term "rested and refreshed" to describe my  state upon returning.  I don't get the "rested" part.  I never really rested. I worked--and played--pretty hard actually and now I am tired around the edges.  However, in one sense--perhaps that of restarting a computer, for example--I could be refreshed.  Sabbatical is a reboot.  It involves getting rid of old programming and updating systems.  I am not done yet.  There is more sabbatical to come.  Still, I am in the reboot process and that is...interesting.

I had a number of goals  for myself at this point in that process.  One of them was simply an act of definition.  I wanted to answer the question of what a "Sabbath Walk" actually is.  I named this weblog after the concept, which did not originate with me. What sort of "walk" helps us to connect to the Great Whatever?  How do we find ways to act in the world that will expand our horizons?  In an earlier post I talked about what the implications might be for the institutional church.  Here, I want to lift up some aspects of what I learned.

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Tiny cute shrub growing out of a rock on Israel.
Now for this project my sabbath walks have been actual walks.  That is what works for me.  Of course they could really comprise any number of activities.  Some people's sabbath walk is more of a sit or a read.  There are people who explore through music or math or science.  I kept it simple by making this metaphor for life somewhat literal.  There are, of course, other ways to connection.  Here I am talking about hiking, but there may be something in it for you even if that is not your bag.

I learned pretty quickly that not every hike fit into the category of sabbath. Some of them were too challenging.  Some were too easy.  There were distractions along the way.  Like Goldilocks I found that there was an element of "just rightness" that I needed to get into a prayerful or meditative mood. I have hinted at this realization in a number of other posts.  Just as in formal worship--where through the elements of the ritual we attempt to elevate our minds and hearts--there are conditions that help or hinder the spiritual exercise of walking in the woods.

Of course there are infinite variations to these conditions.  However, for the sake of simplicity I have begun to use four broad categories that need to be present in relatively equal measure for a true sabbath walk.  If they are not there the adventure can still be worthwhile, of course.  It is just that the conditions make the spiritual connection--the meditative aspect--harder to find.  There was much to say about ,my climb up Mount Washington and Mount Monroe, for example, but either my own state or the state of the hike itself (or both) made meaningful reflection difficult
Anyway, here they are.  All four of these aspects are recognizable to most hikers as being par for the course.  Which is to say that they are part of any climb or walk. When we are mindful of them, we have a better time.  In fact, these are often the specific reasons we went for a walk in the first place!
1) Physical Challenge and Discipline: 
It is hard to miss this one.  I mark my own discipline of sabbath walking from right after my back surgery. There was rehab involved. I had to get out and get moving!  Hiking was more interesting than going to the gym, where I injured myself in the first place. It was also something I was familiar with from a lifetime of getting outdoors.  Most people--hikers and non-hikers alike--recognize that there is a physical challenge involved when we intentionally take a long walk.  Even strolling around the neighborhood indicates that we are somehow  pushing ourselves.  The challenge is part of why we do it.  We are "getting in shape" but we are also getting to know our bodies, their likes and dislikes.  Knowing ourselves and the vessel that carries us is essential to a well-grounded life.

Now, this can often be the primary motivation for some hikers.  It is a legitimate door into a sabbath discipline.  Getting stronger and feeling better physically is important in and of itself.  So too is the pride and joy of achieving a difficult goal.  When I climbed Mount Adams and Mount Madison a couple weeks ago, I was chuffed to have done so.  The trip was very much about dealing with the 5,000-plus feet of total elevation gain and staying hydrated. We were coping with the discomfort and the risk around wet trails and the slippery rocks. My brother waited at the end for us and became worried something bad had happened! We were just slow. We all high-fived each other in the parking lot at the end. That said, the physical challenges out-weighed some of the other aspects so it was hard for me to make it a "sabbath."

What I can say, though, is that one's physical presence brought about by addressing a physical challenge with intention and discipline is essential to the walk.  It's just that too much physical challenge makes it hard to concentrate on other things. We must push ourselves and engage our bodies. Yet it can be--and should be--at the level of the walker.  That is part of our practice of self-awareness, after all.  It also needs to balance​ with a few other things.
PictureFave little plant on Israel.
2) Mental Challenge and Discipline:
Now, it may be easy to conflate this with the physical challenge.  Many athletes, for example, talk about getting the right mindset for their respective competitions.  I am a big basketball fan and--if this were a different kind of blog--I would tell you about the many times in the NBA and WNBA where a less-talented team beat a more talented one because their heads were in the right place. 

We see this in a good walk, as well.  Lets say we are climbing a physically challenging mountain and we need to find the courage and fortitude to keep going.  In that moment we must push through the pain or despair to the other side.  It matters that we  do this.  However, it also matters how we do this.  For some it is a case of baring down, finding hidden reserves of power, and soldiering through.  Others--and I would put myself in this category--do better through a discipline of openness.  When I hike I try to cast my eyes and my heart outward into the landscape and toward other hikers, using the power of the world around me to drive me forward.

It wasn't always this way.  I remember hiking Mount Moosilauke early on in this project.  In retrospect I probably shouldn't have.  I was still in pretty bad shape both physically and mentally.  I used the "dig deep, push through" method and it got me to the top of the mountain.  About halfway down, however, those reserves ran out.  I "crashed" emotionally and had trouble getting myself back to the car while in full hot mess mode.  This was the state of things on many hikes for a while.  However, I started turning the corner while climbing the Tripyramids and by the time I hit the Osceolas--where I actually took a major fall--I at least had the sense of what I needed to do going forward. All that stuff in my posts about noticing the colors, the views, the little plants, and the people began as part of that exercise of openness.  It was a very practical adaptation to help me survive.  

​The world/creation/the universe etc has more energy than we have on our own.  It is good to find ways to use it.

PictureSometimes it is hard to be receptive to rocks.
3) Receptivity to the Moment:
This one logically follows from the previous ones, doesn't it?  It is in some way about aesthetics.  Most folks who go for walks have a view in mind.  That is why we climb mountains or circle lakes.  It is why we try for the most "natural" places in our lives.  We are trying to be called up and out from the concerns that tie us down and reduce our humanity.  An experience that points to the vastness around us helps with that.

Human constructs often demand more from us than we are able to healthily give.  There are societal and economic demands on us.  In order to maintain our selfhood in this environment, we naturally pull ourselves inward.  We stay in our lane as much as possible. We also travel as fast as that lane allows. 

Maybe we manage to live in the moment while we are drinking our first cup of coffee in the morning.  After that, though, for most of us life is a series of next moments.  There are things we are expected to--or want to--achieve so we going about doing those things.

This is what draws us to our sanctuaries.  We are not products of our constructed world.  We are products of the world before we built those things.  You might want to go back and read the two previous sentences again. The solid foundation of a house of worship, or the quiet of an art museum, or the chaos of a concert, or the  primal energy of the trail, are all sanctuaries for our souls where we can be present in the space we are occupying at that very moment.  Our challenge is to find those places where we are receptive.  There are many, many directions in which to go to seek them.

If you have read my posts here then you know that I have developed a practice of receptiveness while hiking.  Particularly when I am alone, I make a point of sitting, feeling the rock beneath me, listening to the wind and the animals in the bushes.  If there is a view I try to enjoy that, too.  It isn't entirely necessary though.  This practice has helped to save many a hike that I would otherwise deem a bust. Most recently it helped me through a soggy hike up Mount Israel.

​The sabbath walk needs time to make connections to the right now, and sometimes it isn't that easy.

PictureTrying to find the connection in the rain...
4) Contributing Creativity
Worship is a dialogue.  Yes, in many formal settings it may not feel that way. Folks who get their information about worship life third-hand may not be aware that in pretty much every tradition there are ways that everyone participates and adds to the moment.  In my church there are hymns and responsive readings.  There are announcements that are sometimes longer than the sermon.  There is coffee and conversation afterward that frequently lasts longer than worship, itself.  A sabbath walk requires these elements as well. Our conversation--broadly conceived--creates a new thing and adds to the whole of creation.

Creativity can be intimidating.  People think of painting, writing, and preaching, for example.  However, it doesn't have to be that way.  Do you sing along to the radio in the car?  That is part of a dialogue. You are changing the original document--the song--and making it your own at least for that place and time.  I sing hymns on the trail these days, particularly when things are getting rough. I picked this practice back up from my distant past on a solo hike up Tecumseh and have continued to do so when the spirit moves.

​I also take pictures and, yes, I write. That is extra, though. As this project has gone on I have found it harder to post something new for each walk but I still form sentences in my heart as I go along, even though you may never read them. I also usually manage an Instagram post. Pictures don't feel as repetitive to me.

A sabbath walk doesn't just involve being in the moment and witnessing what is before us.  It involves making that moment more meaningful and beautiful. This doesn't always happen.  There is so much going on as we walk that we may be too distracted.  There may be too much going on before and after our walk. We may not be in the right space to make something new. 

However sabbath is about practice and we do get better at being creative over time.  We get better at talking back to--and building--creation. We need to forgive ourselves when things don't go right.  There will always be another sabbath-day.

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There is a trail in there somewhere...can you find it?
So--once again--not all walks are reflective.  That is fine and good.  Sometimes we need to get something else out of an experience.  That said, I do believe that there is a place for worshipful walking when we can.  These four aspects in some sort of balance are--for me at least--what makes the difference between a good hike and a sabbath walk.  If you are curious which ones made it for me, I have an "Actual Sabbath Walks" section which will give you a sense of what I am talking about.  They can be a challenging as Mount Katahdin or as easy as Mount Norwottuck.  On my list, for whatever reason, things aligned in such a way as to create an attitude of worship and of connection to something greater than myself. 

I hope your walks--or your "walks"--are also satisfying.  If you feel like sharing, please do!  Communities--congregations in whatever form--make everything more meaningful.
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Peak Colors on Hedgehog

10/18/2022

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The glory of the mountains is color.  A great many people think that they see all that there is to be seen of the White Hills in one visit...but what if you could go into a gallery where the various sculpture took different attitudes every day?  ...Would one season be sufficient to drain the interest of it?  Thus the mountains are ever changing.  They are never two days the same.   --Thomas Starr King
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As always, the trail begins under the trees.
PictureSpectacular foliage as seen from Allen's Ledge that I hiked under the next day...in the rain.
Hiked On October 12, 2022

Many years ago my mother-in-law came across a Walter Launt Palmer painting in a thrift shop in New Jersey.  That painting eventually got  her an appearance on the Antiques Roadshow. Back then this name was new to me.  Palmer worked mostly in New Hampshire in the White Mountains and his work was heavily influenced by the Hudson River school that began about a generation earlier.  Since that time I have seen his work in many American museums.  I remember, too, an exhibit of "New Hampshire school" painting at Fruitlands where the emphasis was on the use of light, how it falls, and how it changes a scene.  Light and color are both evident in his work.  Somehow his paintings seem both over-the-top and true-to-life at the same time.  He creates spaces the viewer can recognize and inhabit, while also understanding that the perfection of these works makes them somewhat other-worldly.

It turns out Palmer is a big deal.  Looking at his paintings--easily available for viewing online--you can experience some of the dynamism of the natural world.  They draw us in. They compel us with their familiarity.  We inhabit the scene because it is magical, too.

​The appearance of our lived landscapes alters with the season and the time of day. We experience this in all its glory when we leave our homes to journey farther into the wild.  However, we are familiar with it from our own more mundane lives as well.  Looking at the trees outside my window I can see them cycle through the seasons; from brown, to green, to yellow and red, then back to brown.  When it rains they look different from when they are in the sun or the snow.  We are used to this phenomenon. Still, for most people it remains fascinating.


The Universalist and Unitarian minister, Thomas Starr King also saw this aspect of light and color.  He is most associated these days with California, where he ministered and where a seminary is named in his honor.  However, Starr King was a New Yorker and a New Englander before that.  In fact, he wrote a book in the 19th Century style about what he called the "White Hills."  Now one of those "hills" is named after him and resides on the 52 With-a-View List.  The quote at the top of this post refers to something that many people who visit regularly have observed.  The light changes constantly.  So, too, does the color...and not just in the fall. 

​The mountains "are never two days the same." This is why we go out into the natural world more than once a year. When we return to the same place at a different time, we are reminded that this thing called life is dynamic and ever-moving.  We are all these things as well.

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The massive back of Passaconaway, only 2 miles away.
PictureThe narrowest part of the trail.
I climbed up Hedgehog on my own about 30 seconds after peak foliage.  The weekend before--when we did the Carter Loop in the snow--was the busiest the Whites had ever been...or, at least, had been since the previous Indigenous People's Day weekend.  Our drive home after that hike was a bit of a nightmare, actually. As I mentioned in my previous post, most peaks were crawling with people.

This past week it was still crowded.  However--just as with the Carters--one can find hikes where the more casual tourist doesn't go.  They are looking for either the easy view or the famous mountain. I don't really blame them and have done so occasionally myself. Driving down the Kancamagus Highway on my way to the trailhead for Hedgehog, I saw overflow parking--cars along the road--at all the major trails and viewpoints.  Random pedestrians popped out into my path to get a better angle on pictures of the Saco River and God knows what else.  It was a bit chaotic even for the tail end of foliage season.

Since I was in New Hampshire for a few days this time, I had planned at least a couple of more obscure hikes. This was the first of them. Pulling in the trailhead parking there was only one other car. The little mountain was pretty much neglected in favor of the more famous ones. That, of course, was my gain. 

After a quick conference with the couple in the car next to me, we chose different routes. My new acquaintances had a steeper climb straight to the peak. I decided to go counter-clockwise. I wanted to start with a clear view from a series of ledges over the Oliverian Brook valley toward Chocorua, Paugus, and then--most strikingly--to Passaconaway only two miles away.  Passaconaway is a massive mountain I would rather look at than climb a second time. I knew that the direction I was going would put it front-and-center as I walked along.

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A look from the first set of ledges up to the peak of Hedgehog.
The early ledges were pretty much all that I expected them to be.  Colorful hardwoods crawled up the slopes from their lower vantage point, attempting, maybe, to pull the dark, massive, pines back down toward them. I had to concentrate a bit on the early ledges that ended abruptly in a steep drop toward the valley floor, but that was not too much of a challenge.  Also, having to focus on the ground gave me the opportunity to look at some of the reddish alpine communities growing in the cracks and crevices near my feet.
​Eventually those ledges ended, followed by a dip and then a steep climb toward the top.  Somewhere before that final climb, I encountered the couple from the parking lot who told me that we no longer had the place to ourselves.  Still, I only saw a few more groups over the course of the day. Some encounters were welcome.  Resting at the peak, in fact, I had a conversation with a young person from Germany.  She had rented a van and was spending a month or so hiking on the east coast.  We got maps out, identified some peaks, and compared notes on our respective future and past hikes. 

She was also concerned about some older folks she had passed on her way up.  They were moving quite slow to her mind. As a somewhat older person myself who is known to hike slowly, I told her I would check on them.  They were fine. They had chosen to move steadily toward the seat we had recently vacated, careful to monitor their progress and their condition.  This wasn't their first rodeo. They knew what they wanted from the climb.  One can accomplish a great deal with an awareness of one's own strengths and limitations. The people I worry about are more confident--or overconfident--ignorant, and ill-prepared.
Picture
My favorite view off Allen's Ledge
PictureAnother from Allen's Ledge looking toward Carrigain.
After the peak I started down. With a little gas left in my metaphorical tank, I decided to take the diversion out to Allen's Ledge.  Here, again, I could look over the Oliverian Brook valley.  These ledges were off the main trail. There was no one else around.  I spent about 40 minutes admiring the silence and the colorful display.  It was easy to imagine being up there in other seasons. Probably winter, in particular, would be delightful on the ledges here. Maybe I will go see it then.

The change of seasons that we witness in this way--just by looking out our windows every month or week of the year--can reflect our own personal seasons. Spring and fall have their easy, spectacular demonstrations of life and death.  However, we also live through the pulsating heat and drought of summer.  We survive the freezing cold of our winters.  It is important to understand that there is beauty in times of desperate survival as well. Otherwise we will not get through the journey as well, will we?

Picture
Oliverian Brook the next day.
PictureMore rain on the Oliverian Brook Trail.
The next day--after a climb of Mount Israel that will be the subject of another post--I hiked along the Oliverian Brook.  I was curious what the space between the mountains looked like from below the ledges.  While I was there, the ferocious rain stripped many of the trees clean. The leaves gathered in muddy puddles along the trail, becoming soil in real time.  Peak foliage is over for another year, but this new landscape had its own beauty to observe.

I sat under the roots of an old tree along the brook and watched the current, the rain, and this year's bright color turn to the browns and grays that the snow will later outline like a Palmer painting. The cycle of life continues. Creation never ceases. We are blessed to participate and witness.

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South Carter, Middle Carter, Lethe

10/11/2022

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Picture
PictureIt was all fall at the beginning.
Hiked on October 9, 2022

Snow changes everything.  Obviously there are actual physical changes.  Climbing in the snow--even a little bit--can alter one's approach. The rocks get slippery, for instance.  Footing gets weird.  If it snows early in the season there can be personal thermostat challenges, with layers going on and off in rapid succession.  However, there are also aesthetic and spiritual changes.  The white flakes create sharp outlines where previously there were none.  The fall of snow, itself, helps us remember previous snows for better or for worse.  The sound is altered, too. Even a little snow has the ability to muffle the incidental noises of the forest.  Also, many creatures--human and otherwise--become silent, hiding away until the squall passes on.

An early October snowfall starting somewhere above 3,000 feet changed this hike across South Carter, Middle Carter, and oft-forgotten Mount Lethe.  We had climbed Carter Dome a couple weeks before. Two weeks--and the snow--made all the difference.  When we were on the Carter-Moriah Trail (also part of the AT) in September the place was a seething mass of humanity.  Thru-hikers were hustling along their way in hopes of making it to Baxter State Park before it closed for the season.  Day hikers were everywhere.  On the top of Carter Dome--as I mentioned before--a group had decided to have a picnic and blast their tunes for the rest of us to hear. On this trip it was all silence.  It is too late for all that rushing about and too cold for picnics.  From now until May there is a seriousness to this endeavor that  doesn't empty the big mountains of people so much as put more space between them.

Picture
The steepest section of the trail.
To get to the Carter-Moriah trail--the one that takes us over the peaks--we opted for a steep climb up 19 Mile Brook Trail.  The pitch became steeper as went along.  When we approached Carter Dome we were on the other side of the ridge. We stopped at Carter Notch and climbed to the peak from there.  In this case--on the "front" side--the trail split, with 19-Mile Brook heading toward the hut. The other path--called the Carter Dome Trail though we departed it before the Dome--veers left and heads up toward South Carter. The plans of the few people we saw seemed to involve the hut.  Once we turned we had the trail even more to ourselves.

Shortly after this was when the snow started.  I am not fond of winter or winter hiking.  Snow, however, I like if  it is ridiculously early in the season.  It reminds me of Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Also, it doesn't get deep enough to be a problem--other than the slickness--for our footing.  We had the micro spikes in our bag just in case, but we didn't need them.  I stayed in a T-shirt for quite a while, waiting for the snow to pick up.  I heat up quickly and was mindful of what the drop in temperature could do if I soaked through too many outer layers. 

​It was a strange feeling with the colored leaves still on the trees, but it wasn't an unpleasant one.  The wind had died down, which helped a great deal as well. All the weather activity gave us something to think about as we moved higher and higher.

In a  previous post I made reference to a phenomenon that occurs sometimes on mountain hikes where the trail begins to feel safe and secure, like a comfortable room in a house or a welcoming hallway connecting two points. At least that is how I experience it sometimes.  This hike had a great deal of this sort of action, particularly after the climb up.  When we emerged onto the relatively broad intersection of our trail with Carter-Moriah, the room effect was very much in force.  Again, two weeks earlier this spot would have been insane with hikers.  Now Al and I were alone in the quiet with the snow gently settling around us.
PictureFlat, snowy wetland along the ridge as the snow stopped falling and the temperature dropped.
We may not have been in a true winter wonderland, but it was a wonderland nonetheless.  That feeling stuck with us for the long walk along the ridge.  We had selected this loop to get away from the crowds.  Now on the main trail, we did see a few people enjoying the strangeness of the day. That said, the population was very manageable.

We weren't sure it would be that way. The weekend of Indigenous People's Day is one of the busiest in the Whites.  The foliage is usually full throttle.  You cannot find a place to stay. Many of the best-known trails and mountains are packed with muggles looking for a fabulous view.  We were under the impression that there wasn't much in the view department on the Carters.  This was  why we picked it.  We wanted to hike.  The snow had made the forest even more beautiful so we didn't mind terribly anyway.

Funny thing, though.  We were wrong about the views.  After a long, long, time in the forest the snow started to abate. Through the trees and on various outlooks we were all able to cast our eyes on the fall landscape from our wintry perches. The juxtaposition of our landscape with the one far below was the sort of thing we hope for after putting in so much effort.  It felt like a gift.

PictureA fabulous early view once we got settled on the ridge.
At this point the temperatures had dropped substantially.  Bundled up in our winter jackets we took a moment for snacks and water before heading just below the peak of Mount Lethe.  Then we turned on the North Carter Trail toward the Imp Trail for our descent.

The rest of the hike was less interesting.  We had a few more brilliant views before dropping under the canopy of trees.  We had been talking about heading over the Imp Face--one of the 52 WAV mountains--but we were really done.  I was especially finished.  I had decided to wear my "backup" hiking boots that I used on the Great Glen Way.  This was a mistake.  I was trying to save money by nursing along my favorite pair, saving them for other hikes. I paid for my cheapness with pain.  I don't think I can do that much longer.  It is worth it to use the right gear for the right job. The best boots one can get are the best boots to have, it turns out. Limping down to the bottom of the North Carter/Imp trails I welcomed the short road walk back to our car to complete the loop.

Picture
Winter stretched out to meet fall before we began our descent.
Sometimes there is no great theme to a walk.  On days like this it is best not to look too hard for meaning.  Instead we favor the day we have been given with our attention.  The snow, the pretty trail, the surprise views, and even the sore feet contributed to the experience.  We were open to the wonder and were rewarded for it.
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Alone on Mount Cube

10/5/2022

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Picture
The Cross Rivendell Trail and the trees...
Hiked On October 4, 2022 (via Cross Rivendell Trail)

​It is the first hike of October and the foliage situation is improving.  Right now--at least on Mount Cube--it is all about orange and yellow with a few touches of red. When it isn't raining, the temperature is just about perfect. I am going to have to switch out from my summer pack to my regular pack this week.  The number of layers I use in a day out is increasing. There is a gentle smell in the air of wetness and rot. It is a beautiful time for a sabbath walk. 

Also, there are fewer people out on the trails.  Vacation is over and the peak season of outdoor activity is behind us now.  In fact, it turns out that if you hike this mountain early in the morning on a Tuesday in October, you can have the place to yourself.  I have never been so alone on a mountain.  There were no cars at the trailhead. I saw nobody at the intersections with other trails.  That was fine by me. 
Picture
I took a break to check out these ferns. the picture doesn't do them justice.
Picture
Still, it felt a bit strange.  When I hike by myself I am rarely alone.  There are people around even if I don't see them or talk to them.  On the days with rain and fog at the top--most recently Katahdin and Black (Benton)--there are still some hardy types.  On Black it was just a couple people.  On Katahdin there were plenty.  I chose the mountain and the day with isolation in mind.  In fact, I considered the Webster-Jackson loop--which would have been populated even on a weekday--and rejected the idea.  Cube guaranteed silent-time with nature.  I just didn't realize how much silent-time...

For people who hike a great deal, seeking isolation is frequently part (or all) of the goal.  It isn't all fun outings.  We want to be anonymous for our own reasons.  The trauma of the plague, at least, has given many folks the drive to get away.  Each individual, though, has a motivation unique to them. They can be dark reasons or not, but they are still present in our hearts somewhere, possibly not yet fully realized. 

The mountains don't care who you are, after all.  They can be good spots to work things out. There is positive power in sitting with only the vastness for company. Many times, no one will even bother you.

I seem to be drawn to isolation myself, lately. There are times in one's life when a person wants to change things even if they are pretty social during everyday life.  During this sabbatical season the fall in the air has prompted a desire to fade from view a bit. Anonymity is appealing. When someone is unknown, they can change how they dress, look, and act if that is what is desired. Time away helps with that. 

​Time in a relatively undisturbed ecosystem--which is constantly emerging and reinventing itself--helps, too. For a moment we can slip into creation's rhythms and see ourselves as non-static beings. We are able to escape Society's wish to cast us permanently in our current outward role. In the wild we do not have to play the part of good or bad, strong or weak, foolish or wise that has been our assignment through the passing of years. We are  observed, judged, and graded in life.  These pressures strive to mold us. Sometimes they do so in inauthentic ways.

Many of the people I meet out in the forest are seeking out the liminal space in offers.  On the trail we are reminded that all is in flux; that there is death, life, and possibility in every new step. We do not have to be who we have become.  We do not need to carry those burdens.

​That said, I didn't meet any of those adventurous changing people on Mount Cube. I was that alone.

Picture
Part of the view from South Peak. That is Smarts Mountain to the left.
PictureI am remembering to make a photographic record of my lack of beard.
Now practically speaking, on this particular walk, there were disadvantages to this isolation.  First, I hadn't counted on being so tired at the beginning.  My knees remembered the Katahdin hike differently from how my mind remembered it. It wasn't all about the beauty of the day or the companionship of the AT hikers. It was mostly pain, apparently. This creakiness came in part from having so few distractions.  It takes a while to ease out of drive-mode into walk-mode.  I could have used a person or two to facilitate the transition.  Also, it isn't always great to be alone with your thoughts.  One can have trouble settling down and putting aside whatever negative emotions have built up just from being alive and around people.

The advantages, though, outweighed the burdens.  The day was postcard-worthy.  There was a mild breeze by mountain standards and the views were back.  I encountered a couple view points on the way up; places where the rock ledges had overwhelmed any attempt the trees made to expand there.  Then--as often happens--there was a scramble over exposed rock to the first of two peaks. 

​The Cube's south peak is on the 52 With-A-View list. A wide valley can be seen with Smarts Mountain--only 4 miles away--dominating the landscape.  The site of at least two plane crashes, it, too is on my list.

PictureThis is the least room-like spot on the ridge between peaks.
After spending some time there I progressed along a few hundred yards of the AT, which passed just below the peak, itself. This led to a side trail that brought me, eventually, to the north peak. The course here was relatively flat and narrow.  The trees pressed close in in a way that made this part of the journey feel like exploring a room or a hallway. I don't know how else to describe the phenomenon.  It happens occasionally  close to the top of a mountain or along a ridge where the contours of the terrain and the tight network of plants break the wind. In those places it feels like all you would need is a roof to live there forever.

The north peak had its own views.  Moosilauke, Black (Benton), and Blueberry mountain were easy to identify.  The first was noticeable for its size and the others for their ledges.  Again, a valley stretched out between them and me.  In this case the trees had given it an orange tint that was mesmerizing.  I sat at the viewpoint for a while and then started back.

PictureLast glimpses of sunrise on North Peak right where I lost the trail.
​One of the problems with hiking alone is that there is only one brain to rely on when you get turned around. For this reason I took a bearing from the trailhead to make sure I could stumble down to the logging road where I left my car if need be.  In this case it was more about retracing my steps along broad ledges that resist signs of foot traffic. 

​Eventually I made back to the entrance of the tight corridor of trees and returned to South Peak.  There I sat for a while.  If you read my Watatic post you know I am trying to do more of that.  My companion in this instance was a smallish tree situated near the same sort of 19th and early 20th century graffiti that graces many popular mountains in Massachusetts; old names of visitors carved deeply into ledge rock. At this point it was easy to remember that aloneness is not the same as loneliness, that we aren't really alone anyway, and that our thoughts--or non-thoughts--can be good companions.

Picture
My tree friend on South Peak on the way back.
I pointed my feet toward the car.  Trails always look a little different heading in the other direction.  I noticed small paths to secret campsites along with some glimpses through the trees that I had previously missed.  The challenge of the end of the hike is that--in the returning--all the pressures of life return as well.  It starts with figuring out a route home and then cascades from there.  Mindfulness can keep these worries at bay for a while, but not forever.

About a fifth of a mile from the trailhead I encountered two women heading up. I said hello and kept on moving.  It was like a shift change. It was their turn to have Mount Cube to themselves.
Picture
Just below South Peak either when saying hello or goodbye.
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    Adam Tierney-Eliot

    I am a full-time pastor in a small, progressive church in Massachusetts.  This blog is about the non-church things I do to find spiritual sustenance.

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