McRat
New member
After a short sleep, an early alarm, a long drive and a brief detour - we arrived at the Berlin Fish Hatchery to begin our adventure.
New Hampshire and the Jeneral rode up with Hikerfast while the remainder of the Fool Scouts (McCoon and (fmr)Scoutmaster Gary) enjoyed the four hour journey in my car.
The weather was comfortable, with promising blue skies as we tried to figure out if we were at the Unknown Pond trailhead or not. The trailhead sign was missing. We found the Bunnell Notch trailhead further down the road, and surmised we had guessed right. If that pond ever hopes to get better known it will need to stop being so secretive.
The trail should be better known as it was lovely to travel. For the most part it had a gentle grade as it headed up to Unknown Pond beside a flowing river. The river crossings required a little planning to keep our boots dry, but were otherwise manageable.
The good news is that the bugs are not attacking yet. Believe it or not – I saw only one of the flying bastards… which I managed to inhale.
I forgot that wonderful experience from last year. The coughing, eye watering, what’s-that-in-the-back-of-my-throat-panic. Feeling like that a no-see-um has suddenly expanded to the size of a sparrow. After making enough of a spectacle in front of Jen that she was becoming concerned, it was clear the bug was not coming out.
It went down well with my fruit punch, though they are typically paired with a citrus drink.
There were a few stretches of mud along the way, and just before the final pitch up to Unknown Pond, the snow began appearing. By the time we reached the pond it was pretty much snowshoe time along the well-postholed trail.
Along the pond we heard the strangest noise. It almost seemed like the first part of a duck quack, repeated. Soon we realized what it was. Frogs. Hundreds of ‘em. If you saw one frog, within a 5 foot radius there were 3-5 more. The overall effect of all these little Romeos calling out for a Juliet was surreal. If you listened long enough, you started wondering if there were people talking just out of sight.
What a perfect place to embrace the madness and enjoy lunch. Hikerfast had brought up his stove and about four pounds of steak tips, and we ate our fill while chatting and enjoying the scenery and symphony.
“Oh my God! They killed Kenny”, Brian shouted as we arrived at the junction of the Kilkenny Ridge trail. As it got steeper, I scouted ahead to make sure we were still on the trail. The moose had left some postholes that did not always follow the blazed trail. The moose also left behind their calling cards in record numbers. Seriously. Someone has been feeding these guys Metamoosel or something. I imagined that it was one moose that we would see atop the Horn – two feet tall and deflated.
Somewhere around 3700’, I heard a call from behind me, and started to head back. Before long Gary, the little engine that could, gave me the news. Dennis had a nasty leg cramp, Bob wasn’t feeling well, and Brian and Jen headed back with them.
Up, up, and away. We marched along until we reached the spur to the Horn. It appears to have a recent sign replacement and was relatively easy to find and follow. As we approached the summit boulder, we saw it was occupied by about a dozen people.
They were extremely polite, and offered to continue their chat at the lower outcrop, as they had been enjoying the summit for an hour. The ‘Summit Achievers’ are all right in my book. I wished I had some ice cream sandwiches to offer, but didn’t expect to run into anyone on this trip, let alone a group.
The views from the Horn lived up to their reputation. Visibility was excellent, and we enjoyed the respite knowing the majority of elevation gain was behind us. As I looked at the shiny benchmark, a new journey had officially begun. With my NH48 completed, I was now on my 49th peak on the NEHH. It was oddly comforting to be back under the tyranny of a list again.
As we headed over the Bulge, I got to clock a second NEHH peak for the day. I had just started the New England Hundred Highest and I was 50% done already. I was making good time, and Gary was steaming along trying to encourage me to start smoking again.
When I reached the summit of Cabot, the elevation was behind us and I had to admit that it was an easier trip since quitting the smokes – just as I was thinking, “This would be a good time for a smoke.”
That was when cigarettes have their highest appeal, when the smoker has a few minutes (and themselves) to kill. These breaks are frequent in life, and I turn to silly mathematical queries to pass the time.
Since I had quit smoking on April 2nd – If I had still been smoking at the rate I had been, and if that had been ONE cigarette – it would have been 269 feet long – just the tobacco part. Of course my inner addict would rationalize it away by suggesting I just put a 60-foot filter tip on it, but it is a sobering thought.
In less than two years of smoking, I had consumed a cigarette that would be greater than the elevation of Mt. Washington from sea level. Over the last decade, I perhaps completed a 14K. I’m pretty sure I quit before besting Everest, but it is within reach if I should start again.
It happens just like hiking a mountain, one little step after another really adds up.
Gary came over the ridge and was rewarded for his perseverance with his twentieth NH4K peak and some nice views. Things had gotten a bit hazier, but the last time I was here the summit was completely socked in. The view from Cabot, as was mentioned in a recent TR, is definitely underrated. We wandered on to the Cabot Cabin, but found a small group there cooking dinner. Gary and I sat on the stairs and enjoyed a snack before heading down.
Just before the Mt. Cabot trail junction, we saw a short spur to an outlook and rested for a moment looking across the notch to Terrace Mountain. A perfect moment to rest and enjoy the tranquili… RING! RING! Apparently there is decent cell phone signal. It was six O’clock, we had a little over 3 miles to go, and Brian and the crew had arrived back to the hatchery.
From there, we took the Kilkenny Ridge trail to the Bunnell Notch trail – a series of minor ups and downs with a lot more mud than the Unknown Pond trail. Some portions seemed determined to become brooks, and require some maintenance beyond what little drainage I could clear with my hiking poles.
We continued our slow but steady pace along the roaring brook and arrived at the dirt road portion of the Bunnell Notch trail just as twilight was beginning to fade. We were able to walk back without headlamps, and before long we were reunited with our starting crew at the trailhead.
We exchanged stories of the day, and parted ways to begin the dangerous part of the journey – the long drive after the long day. Just before we got back to Rt. 110, we stopped to let a bear amble across the road, a neat thing to see from inside the car.
We stopped in Berlin, gave Dennis the keys, and I slept through much of the ride home – the greatest reward of carpooling.
New Hampshire and the Jeneral rode up with Hikerfast while the remainder of the Fool Scouts (McCoon and (fmr)Scoutmaster Gary) enjoyed the four hour journey in my car.
The weather was comfortable, with promising blue skies as we tried to figure out if we were at the Unknown Pond trailhead or not. The trailhead sign was missing. We found the Bunnell Notch trailhead further down the road, and surmised we had guessed right. If that pond ever hopes to get better known it will need to stop being so secretive.
The trail should be better known as it was lovely to travel. For the most part it had a gentle grade as it headed up to Unknown Pond beside a flowing river. The river crossings required a little planning to keep our boots dry, but were otherwise manageable.
The good news is that the bugs are not attacking yet. Believe it or not – I saw only one of the flying bastards… which I managed to inhale.
I forgot that wonderful experience from last year. The coughing, eye watering, what’s-that-in-the-back-of-my-throat-panic. Feeling like that a no-see-um has suddenly expanded to the size of a sparrow. After making enough of a spectacle in front of Jen that she was becoming concerned, it was clear the bug was not coming out.
It went down well with my fruit punch, though they are typically paired with a citrus drink.
There were a few stretches of mud along the way, and just before the final pitch up to Unknown Pond, the snow began appearing. By the time we reached the pond it was pretty much snowshoe time along the well-postholed trail.
Along the pond we heard the strangest noise. It almost seemed like the first part of a duck quack, repeated. Soon we realized what it was. Frogs. Hundreds of ‘em. If you saw one frog, within a 5 foot radius there were 3-5 more. The overall effect of all these little Romeos calling out for a Juliet was surreal. If you listened long enough, you started wondering if there were people talking just out of sight.
What a perfect place to embrace the madness and enjoy lunch. Hikerfast had brought up his stove and about four pounds of steak tips, and we ate our fill while chatting and enjoying the scenery and symphony.
“Oh my God! They killed Kenny”, Brian shouted as we arrived at the junction of the Kilkenny Ridge trail. As it got steeper, I scouted ahead to make sure we were still on the trail. The moose had left some postholes that did not always follow the blazed trail. The moose also left behind their calling cards in record numbers. Seriously. Someone has been feeding these guys Metamoosel or something. I imagined that it was one moose that we would see atop the Horn – two feet tall and deflated.
Somewhere around 3700’, I heard a call from behind me, and started to head back. Before long Gary, the little engine that could, gave me the news. Dennis had a nasty leg cramp, Bob wasn’t feeling well, and Brian and Jen headed back with them.
Up, up, and away. We marched along until we reached the spur to the Horn. It appears to have a recent sign replacement and was relatively easy to find and follow. As we approached the summit boulder, we saw it was occupied by about a dozen people.
They were extremely polite, and offered to continue their chat at the lower outcrop, as they had been enjoying the summit for an hour. The ‘Summit Achievers’ are all right in my book. I wished I had some ice cream sandwiches to offer, but didn’t expect to run into anyone on this trip, let alone a group.
The views from the Horn lived up to their reputation. Visibility was excellent, and we enjoyed the respite knowing the majority of elevation gain was behind us. As I looked at the shiny benchmark, a new journey had officially begun. With my NH48 completed, I was now on my 49th peak on the NEHH. It was oddly comforting to be back under the tyranny of a list again.
As we headed over the Bulge, I got to clock a second NEHH peak for the day. I had just started the New England Hundred Highest and I was 50% done already. I was making good time, and Gary was steaming along trying to encourage me to start smoking again.
When I reached the summit of Cabot, the elevation was behind us and I had to admit that it was an easier trip since quitting the smokes – just as I was thinking, “This would be a good time for a smoke.”
That was when cigarettes have their highest appeal, when the smoker has a few minutes (and themselves) to kill. These breaks are frequent in life, and I turn to silly mathematical queries to pass the time.
Since I had quit smoking on April 2nd – If I had still been smoking at the rate I had been, and if that had been ONE cigarette – it would have been 269 feet long – just the tobacco part. Of course my inner addict would rationalize it away by suggesting I just put a 60-foot filter tip on it, but it is a sobering thought.
In less than two years of smoking, I had consumed a cigarette that would be greater than the elevation of Mt. Washington from sea level. Over the last decade, I perhaps completed a 14K. I’m pretty sure I quit before besting Everest, but it is within reach if I should start again.
It happens just like hiking a mountain, one little step after another really adds up.
Gary came over the ridge and was rewarded for his perseverance with his twentieth NH4K peak and some nice views. Things had gotten a bit hazier, but the last time I was here the summit was completely socked in. The view from Cabot, as was mentioned in a recent TR, is definitely underrated. We wandered on to the Cabot Cabin, but found a small group there cooking dinner. Gary and I sat on the stairs and enjoyed a snack before heading down.
Just before the Mt. Cabot trail junction, we saw a short spur to an outlook and rested for a moment looking across the notch to Terrace Mountain. A perfect moment to rest and enjoy the tranquili… RING! RING! Apparently there is decent cell phone signal. It was six O’clock, we had a little over 3 miles to go, and Brian and the crew had arrived back to the hatchery.
From there, we took the Kilkenny Ridge trail to the Bunnell Notch trail – a series of minor ups and downs with a lot more mud than the Unknown Pond trail. Some portions seemed determined to become brooks, and require some maintenance beyond what little drainage I could clear with my hiking poles.
We continued our slow but steady pace along the roaring brook and arrived at the dirt road portion of the Bunnell Notch trail just as twilight was beginning to fade. We were able to walk back without headlamps, and before long we were reunited with our starting crew at the trailhead.
We exchanged stories of the day, and parted ways to begin the dangerous part of the journey – the long drive after the long day. Just before we got back to Rt. 110, we stopped to let a bear amble across the road, a neat thing to see from inside the car.
We stopped in Berlin, gave Dennis the keys, and I slept through much of the ride home – the greatest reward of carpooling.
