Fisher Cat
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It was the summer of 1978. I can still see myself walking past the tall foxgloves my great uncle had planted at the southern end of the garden. Then past the strawberries he grew, protected by black mesh to keep the cedar waxwings away. Off across the northeastern corner of the garden, through the unmowed grass, was the destination of one of my first explorations: The Frog Pond. It was a haven for the singing peepers and spring was not official until introduced by their chorus. Across the Pond jutted the only rock large enough to break the surface. Big enough to stand on, but not much else to it. It taunted me in my young years, I just had to be the first one to stand on its bulk. Equipped with all the pomp a 7 and 10 year old could muster, my older brother and I procured our inflatable raft we had bought at Rich's in Gorham, and launched ourselves into the bold endeavour. It never occurred to us that it only took 3 or 4 strokes of the oar to reach that rock. Trusting in all the stability an inflatable raft can provide, I gingerly - yet confidently - put one foot first, then the other, and extended my posture up, I had done it! Surely I stood where no man had stood before. We were so bemused we rowed back to shore, turned around, and did it again so my brother could be the first to land on the opposite end of the rock. Kings of our own world were we. I never knew where I would go next.
I related this story to my wife on one of our many hikes this week. As she closes in on her 48, I return to many of these peaks with glee. It is exactly what I have stated I would always do. As we hiked I gave a lot of thought to that youthful spirit of exploration, and in a historical sense it saddened me a bit. The Grand Age of Exploration in the Whites was some time ago. From Field's ascent, I thought of Belknap, then the unceasing procession of botanists, scientists, artists, and trailmakers that was indeed relentless. Today the bushwhacker is the closest we have to remote explorers, but on more than one occasion they too have been surprised to find a human prescence indicative to one of their ancient own.
All week I had been on trails I had travelled many times before, the Ammo, Wildcat Ridge, Air Line, Lonesome Lake, Fishin Jimmy, Kinsman Ridge, Caps, Link, Castle, and of course, Osseo to name a few. Quite often I cannot remember the last time I hiked certain trails, so when in doubt I merely reply either " the summer of 87, 88, or 89" because once I had my own car, I was released like a tornado onto the trails. But nowadays, I try to view trails I have hiked before as if I never had, as if they were new to me. Thinking that perhaps from a different angle, time of day, or with present company, they would seem new, like I was the first one there. But in a greater sense they are new. Northern NH has changed over the years, even the mountains and her enclosed creatures face pressures they have not before, or at least not in my tender years. And of course, the stress we face too as we get older causes a lot of old memories to change perspective. So, when I enter the woods, its with a lot of these thoughts in mind. Yet, still I come. Is it surprising that in an ever-changing world, the easiest way for some of us to deal with the future is to fall back to what we remember, reverting to something seemingly old and stable, like these mountains? I am blessed with employment longevity that has reaped a bounty of vacation time. Its not outside the realm of possibility to travel and hike somewhere else besides the Whites. But when it comes to such thoughts, the aspect of where I could go, is always overruled by where I want to go.
On the last full day of the week, I turned off to the Whitehouse Trail. I was on Patrol to check out the work of the Adopter for said trail and, much to my delight, found my thirst for hemlock groves almost immediately quenched. I have fallen in love with these selective groves, and found many small ones aside the trail, as if the seeds of long ago had my spirit of content in mind. Funny though, in a forest like this I can feel as if I am standing on the threshold, but still feel a long way from home. I deliberately slowed my pace, remembering when I never wanted recess to end, dragging my feet as if I could slow down time. There was one job left to do, I had to brush in an area that had gotten muddy and was eroding away an embankment as people sought the course of least resistance. I was chopping up some dead trees a distance away, dragging then over, sweating like mad, building my branch bulwark, when I noticed a father and his daughter hiking along and drawing closer to me. The young girl could not have been older than 6 or so. The closer they got to me, this dripping, smelly monstrosity holding an axe that I was, the closer she got to her father's leg till she was almost clenching it and riding on his feet. We exchanged greetings, talked about trailwork, and off they went. As they got farther away, she regained the gait of a youth in bliss, and they were slowly absorbed by the forest. I thought about it a bit and realized by the items she carried that she was off on her own adventure of sorts, perhaps they were just going down to the brook. I was alone again in my hemlock grove. I wondered as they left, what did she think of the woods, what will she remember? Will she remember this hike with her dad in years to come? Was it her first time hiking? I didn't think so, her father was packed like he had done this before. Maybe it was her first time on this trail. That's when it hit me. It was certainly a new trail to me, I had never been on it before in my life. I never had cause to be on it in all my years of hiking. I'm not sure exactly what prompted this mini-revelation, but perhaps it was what I had just witnessed.Sometimes the woods just bring out the child and youth within. The ability to look upon these forests and mountains with the wonder, amazement, and awe known only to the tender innocence of years gone by. We may be older now, but it still takes us back in time as far as we allow it to. We may not always be able to view life through the eyes of a child, the exposure to new things everyday as we grow. A lot of that is due to the obligations and responsibilties we bear as adults, but it certainly cannot hurt to try. What we seek in these mountains is only limited by what we want to find.
I know I'm not the first to walk these trails in the forests, that's for sure. Hundreds, if not thousands have done so before me. The best part of all? I know I won't be the last, and that's the best comfort of all. When it comes to hiking and exploring trails old and new, I may not know when I will arrive, nor what I will find when I get there, I just know that each step brings me closer to where I need to be.
I went back to the Frog Pond before we drove back this week, I just had to see it. The Pond is slowly becoming a marsh. I can no longer see the rock, the growth of vegetation hides it, but I know its there. Its as big now as it was then, that's what my mind tells me, when I first set foot upon it. Its just that now, I certainly hope some other young child had his first exploration there too.
As our drive continued, I thought to myself that I hope that little girl returns to the trails for years to come. And I hope that she is able to return for the sheer joy of her own exploration, one that is not dictated by the sheer need to escape the problems and pressures of life. I certainly won't ruin her fun if you don't, and let's agree that if you ever see a young boy charging down a country road carrying an inflatable raft, let's not tell him all that life has in store, all its ups and downs, that perhaps its best if he gets out there now and has all the fun he can while he is still able to do so. That is something he can think about in the future, for now, after all, he has a full day of exploring in front of him.
Here's a weeks worth of photos:
http://fishercat.smugmug.com/Other/7-Mile-Photostream/17992222_KbVbHx#1378520806_SXR9ffB
I related this story to my wife on one of our many hikes this week. As she closes in on her 48, I return to many of these peaks with glee. It is exactly what I have stated I would always do. As we hiked I gave a lot of thought to that youthful spirit of exploration, and in a historical sense it saddened me a bit. The Grand Age of Exploration in the Whites was some time ago. From Field's ascent, I thought of Belknap, then the unceasing procession of botanists, scientists, artists, and trailmakers that was indeed relentless. Today the bushwhacker is the closest we have to remote explorers, but on more than one occasion they too have been surprised to find a human prescence indicative to one of their ancient own.
All week I had been on trails I had travelled many times before, the Ammo, Wildcat Ridge, Air Line, Lonesome Lake, Fishin Jimmy, Kinsman Ridge, Caps, Link, Castle, and of course, Osseo to name a few. Quite often I cannot remember the last time I hiked certain trails, so when in doubt I merely reply either " the summer of 87, 88, or 89" because once I had my own car, I was released like a tornado onto the trails. But nowadays, I try to view trails I have hiked before as if I never had, as if they were new to me. Thinking that perhaps from a different angle, time of day, or with present company, they would seem new, like I was the first one there. But in a greater sense they are new. Northern NH has changed over the years, even the mountains and her enclosed creatures face pressures they have not before, or at least not in my tender years. And of course, the stress we face too as we get older causes a lot of old memories to change perspective. So, when I enter the woods, its with a lot of these thoughts in mind. Yet, still I come. Is it surprising that in an ever-changing world, the easiest way for some of us to deal with the future is to fall back to what we remember, reverting to something seemingly old and stable, like these mountains? I am blessed with employment longevity that has reaped a bounty of vacation time. Its not outside the realm of possibility to travel and hike somewhere else besides the Whites. But when it comes to such thoughts, the aspect of where I could go, is always overruled by where I want to go.
On the last full day of the week, I turned off to the Whitehouse Trail. I was on Patrol to check out the work of the Adopter for said trail and, much to my delight, found my thirst for hemlock groves almost immediately quenched. I have fallen in love with these selective groves, and found many small ones aside the trail, as if the seeds of long ago had my spirit of content in mind. Funny though, in a forest like this I can feel as if I am standing on the threshold, but still feel a long way from home. I deliberately slowed my pace, remembering when I never wanted recess to end, dragging my feet as if I could slow down time. There was one job left to do, I had to brush in an area that had gotten muddy and was eroding away an embankment as people sought the course of least resistance. I was chopping up some dead trees a distance away, dragging then over, sweating like mad, building my branch bulwark, when I noticed a father and his daughter hiking along and drawing closer to me. The young girl could not have been older than 6 or so. The closer they got to me, this dripping, smelly monstrosity holding an axe that I was, the closer she got to her father's leg till she was almost clenching it and riding on his feet. We exchanged greetings, talked about trailwork, and off they went. As they got farther away, she regained the gait of a youth in bliss, and they were slowly absorbed by the forest. I thought about it a bit and realized by the items she carried that she was off on her own adventure of sorts, perhaps they were just going down to the brook. I was alone again in my hemlock grove. I wondered as they left, what did she think of the woods, what will she remember? Will she remember this hike with her dad in years to come? Was it her first time hiking? I didn't think so, her father was packed like he had done this before. Maybe it was her first time on this trail. That's when it hit me. It was certainly a new trail to me, I had never been on it before in my life. I never had cause to be on it in all my years of hiking. I'm not sure exactly what prompted this mini-revelation, but perhaps it was what I had just witnessed.Sometimes the woods just bring out the child and youth within. The ability to look upon these forests and mountains with the wonder, amazement, and awe known only to the tender innocence of years gone by. We may be older now, but it still takes us back in time as far as we allow it to. We may not always be able to view life through the eyes of a child, the exposure to new things everyday as we grow. A lot of that is due to the obligations and responsibilties we bear as adults, but it certainly cannot hurt to try. What we seek in these mountains is only limited by what we want to find.
I know I'm not the first to walk these trails in the forests, that's for sure. Hundreds, if not thousands have done so before me. The best part of all? I know I won't be the last, and that's the best comfort of all. When it comes to hiking and exploring trails old and new, I may not know when I will arrive, nor what I will find when I get there, I just know that each step brings me closer to where I need to be.
I went back to the Frog Pond before we drove back this week, I just had to see it. The Pond is slowly becoming a marsh. I can no longer see the rock, the growth of vegetation hides it, but I know its there. Its as big now as it was then, that's what my mind tells me, when I first set foot upon it. Its just that now, I certainly hope some other young child had his first exploration there too.
As our drive continued, I thought to myself that I hope that little girl returns to the trails for years to come. And I hope that she is able to return for the sheer joy of her own exploration, one that is not dictated by the sheer need to escape the problems and pressures of life. I certainly won't ruin her fun if you don't, and let's agree that if you ever see a young boy charging down a country road carrying an inflatable raft, let's not tell him all that life has in store, all its ups and downs, that perhaps its best if he gets out there now and has all the fun he can while he is still able to do so. That is something he can think about in the future, for now, after all, he has a full day of exploring in front of him.
Here's a weeks worth of photos:
http://fishercat.smugmug.com/Other/7-Mile-Photostream/17992222_KbVbHx#1378520806_SXR9ffB
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