MonadnockVol
New member
I’ve had it with this winter. Even though I love winter climbing and snowshoeing, I have sated on the snowiest NH winter in the last 138 years. The two inches of snow that fell in Keene on Friday after a week of melting felt like a betrayal. I got mad and refused to shovel my driveway yet again. And this morning I got up and headed out for a hike, but this time I headed south in search of earth free of ice and snow.
Few people seem to write about the trip to the trailhead in their reports, but for me the excitement of a hike begins before I take that first step. Getting up before dawn’s first light; moving quietly so I don’t wake my (non-hiking) partner; a cup of coffee and some yogurt with granola while I fill my water bottles and check my gear.
Once in the car, there is the drive through familiar streets made unfamiliar by the lack of traffic, then the long ribbon of the highway. Am I the only one who gets so excited about hiking that cruise control is a must to avoid a speeding ticket? How odd today to watch the sun come up from my driver’s side window. But I was heading south not north on I-91 looking for bare ground.
The snow tapers off around Greenfield and I stop at the McDonald’s there for some coffee. Oh, what the hell: I’ll get an Egg McMuffin too. What’s 12 grams of fat and 820 mg of salt when you’re going hiking?
Back on I-91, heading south. I pass the Seven Sisters of the Holyoke Range on my left. I think of my friend who hiked them with me. I miss her and wonder how she’s doing. I hope she’s well.
Finally, I get to the trailhead on Rt. 202 in Holyoke. I’m heading south on the Metacomet-Monadnock Trail. There’s no snow or ice in sight except for some little pillars of ice that pushed up through the earth from last night. I crunch them beneath my boots. Die Winter, Die!
The trail climbs through an oak forest with a few pines, hemlocks and birches mixed in. The woods are filled with Chickadees, Cardinals and one other song that I can't recognize. There is remarkably little undergrowth except for a few bushes and an occasional stand of mountain laurel. Smoke Pond is still covered with soft ice, but the rising sun glints off the open waters of Ashley Pond. I take a break on a rock with a view and note that the buds on the bushes are starting to swell. A fly shares the rock with me. Spring!
The trail is well marked. It has to be: not because the treadway is indistinct but because there are so many trails to choose from. The ridge is criss-crossed with a network of trails, woods roads and herd paths like water channels in a river delta. The Metacomet-Monadnock winds through them merging and diverging all the time.
Everywhere I see evidence of human activity. There is a huge cell phone tower and I have better reception here than I do at home. I am never far from the sound of motors: cars on Rt. 202 and the Mass Pike, planes from the Springfield Airport. And here in the woods the tire tracks of ATV’s and dirt bikes are on every trail. When the trail starts to erode, the ATV’s just go to the left or the right and start a new trail. In places the process has been repeated several times and the entire ridge looks like a sylvan superhighway in various stages of erosion.
And then there is the trash. I see beverage containers of every kind: beer cans, beer bottles, and plastic bottles for water and vitamin water. There are cigarette boxes and butts. There are parts of Styrofoam coolers and half a dozen pieces of white sheet metal. Each is six feet long and they range in width from 6” to 3 feet. Would it really have been so expensive to take these to a landfill or recycling center that it was worth the effort for someone to bring them out here and dump them?
There is green broken glass, brown broken glass, and clear broken glass. There is a knit cap with a Boston Red Sox logo on it. There is an abandoned Christmas tree, a piece of blue tarpaulin and even the remains of a 300 PSI air compressor.
I climb steeply down from the ridge to the Mass Pike and the oak leaves are as slippery as any snow and ice I encountered all winter. I’m glad I have my hiking poles. The trail passes under the highway along some railroad tracks. The concrete walls of the underpass are covered with graffiti, some of which is actually quite beautiful (8 foot high giant flowers). I reach the far side of the highway, turn around and start heading north. I retrace my steps until I come to the junction with the old route of the M-M and then I follow that along the western shore of McLean Reservoir.
I found spring but at the expense of wilderness. Certainly the noise, the erosion, and the trash was off-putting. Having hiked this section now, I doubt I’ll be back. Still there was a certain nobility to this little strip of woods surrounded by so much humanity. It almost seemed to be saying, “You may attack me, but I am still here. Someday the oil will run out, there will be no more motors. Then I will heal and the wind will still rustle my leaves long after you are forgotten.”
Happy Spring. (Monadnock Volunteer aka Steve)
Few people seem to write about the trip to the trailhead in their reports, but for me the excitement of a hike begins before I take that first step. Getting up before dawn’s first light; moving quietly so I don’t wake my (non-hiking) partner; a cup of coffee and some yogurt with granola while I fill my water bottles and check my gear.
Once in the car, there is the drive through familiar streets made unfamiliar by the lack of traffic, then the long ribbon of the highway. Am I the only one who gets so excited about hiking that cruise control is a must to avoid a speeding ticket? How odd today to watch the sun come up from my driver’s side window. But I was heading south not north on I-91 looking for bare ground.
The snow tapers off around Greenfield and I stop at the McDonald’s there for some coffee. Oh, what the hell: I’ll get an Egg McMuffin too. What’s 12 grams of fat and 820 mg of salt when you’re going hiking?
Back on I-91, heading south. I pass the Seven Sisters of the Holyoke Range on my left. I think of my friend who hiked them with me. I miss her and wonder how she’s doing. I hope she’s well.
Finally, I get to the trailhead on Rt. 202 in Holyoke. I’m heading south on the Metacomet-Monadnock Trail. There’s no snow or ice in sight except for some little pillars of ice that pushed up through the earth from last night. I crunch them beneath my boots. Die Winter, Die!
The trail climbs through an oak forest with a few pines, hemlocks and birches mixed in. The woods are filled with Chickadees, Cardinals and one other song that I can't recognize. There is remarkably little undergrowth except for a few bushes and an occasional stand of mountain laurel. Smoke Pond is still covered with soft ice, but the rising sun glints off the open waters of Ashley Pond. I take a break on a rock with a view and note that the buds on the bushes are starting to swell. A fly shares the rock with me. Spring!
The trail is well marked. It has to be: not because the treadway is indistinct but because there are so many trails to choose from. The ridge is criss-crossed with a network of trails, woods roads and herd paths like water channels in a river delta. The Metacomet-Monadnock winds through them merging and diverging all the time.
Everywhere I see evidence of human activity. There is a huge cell phone tower and I have better reception here than I do at home. I am never far from the sound of motors: cars on Rt. 202 and the Mass Pike, planes from the Springfield Airport. And here in the woods the tire tracks of ATV’s and dirt bikes are on every trail. When the trail starts to erode, the ATV’s just go to the left or the right and start a new trail. In places the process has been repeated several times and the entire ridge looks like a sylvan superhighway in various stages of erosion.
And then there is the trash. I see beverage containers of every kind: beer cans, beer bottles, and plastic bottles for water and vitamin water. There are cigarette boxes and butts. There are parts of Styrofoam coolers and half a dozen pieces of white sheet metal. Each is six feet long and they range in width from 6” to 3 feet. Would it really have been so expensive to take these to a landfill or recycling center that it was worth the effort for someone to bring them out here and dump them?
There is green broken glass, brown broken glass, and clear broken glass. There is a knit cap with a Boston Red Sox logo on it. There is an abandoned Christmas tree, a piece of blue tarpaulin and even the remains of a 300 PSI air compressor.
I climb steeply down from the ridge to the Mass Pike and the oak leaves are as slippery as any snow and ice I encountered all winter. I’m glad I have my hiking poles. The trail passes under the highway along some railroad tracks. The concrete walls of the underpass are covered with graffiti, some of which is actually quite beautiful (8 foot high giant flowers). I reach the far side of the highway, turn around and start heading north. I retrace my steps until I come to the junction with the old route of the M-M and then I follow that along the western shore of McLean Reservoir.
I found spring but at the expense of wilderness. Certainly the noise, the erosion, and the trash was off-putting. Having hiked this section now, I doubt I’ll be back. Still there was a certain nobility to this little strip of woods surrounded by so much humanity. It almost seemed to be saying, “You may attack me, but I am still here. Someday the oil will run out, there will be no more motors. Then I will heal and the wind will still rustle my leaves long after you are forgotten.”
Happy Spring. (Monadnock Volunteer aka Steve)
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