Fisher Cat
New member
- Joined
- Jul 27, 2007
- Messages
- 789
- Reaction score
- 109
Every season in NH excites the senses. I often think of the choral rhapsody each spring as the peepers burst into song, or how the rush of winter feels against the cheek, wind burnt and frosty, even summer, with its long hours, enticing my eyes to stay open as long as possible to capture every spectrum of light available to me, begging, pleading, to keep my eyes open.
Which brings me to autumn. It is way too easy to assume that the sense most exhilarated by its rite would be visual. But on our hike to Moriah, my wife and I ended up in discussion regarding another sense that to us seemed even more appropriate.
We had spent Sunday doing trail patrol in the Franconia South region. It rained the whole time, not withstanding, we had seen a large amount of hikers descending, weather-beaten, tired, but amidst their countenance, a spark that said they wished to linger in the forests longer. Our hike to Moriah was free time for us this week. It would be #46 for my wife. Upon arriving at the trailhead we met a senior couple who had just recently adopted the lower half of the Carter-Moriah Trail. We started ahead of them, and we were poking along, previewing the work ahead of them. I stopped to examine a clogged waterbar, and out of sheer curiosity, kicked it open. I had just opened a can of autumn.
Yes, it is to the nose I wish to dedicate this hike, that olfactory sense that serves us so well. For up from the ground came that delightfully decaying, vibrant, both woodsy and earthy smell that tells me exactly what time of year it is. That multi-faceted, yet singular fragrance tells me it is the time of pumpkin pies, wood piles and wood fires, cool crisp mornings capped with a feeling that only the sun at its day end, its weak fingerlings providing a fading prescence of warmth, which causes a glow in one's blood.
As we hiked over Mt Surprise and its beautiful ledges, my wife and I compared scenting notes on what came to us. We are not sure of either the source, or the scientific explanation for these perfumes, but here they are: the smell of school cafeteria peas - yes the ones marked Grade D but edible-,the aroma of fried food, or one of my favorites, the bouquet of homemade granola bars. There are many more scented balms out there that excite me: a fir forest, dark earth in my nostrils, or the smell of rain soon to fall in the woods. The list goes on and on.
But I would be remiss if I were to omit another source of aromas, and I will introduce it with a short quotation by Sir John Suckling. Now, I learned about Suckling in high school. Had I known then, what I know now, I certainly would have held him in even higher esteem.
"Love is the fart of every heart,
for when held in, doth pain the host.
but when released, pains others most."
Indeed, there are many scents of which we are the source, so please, lend your humor to me: a set of wet, clammy hiking clothes, dirty boots and feet, lack of deodorant and/or anti-perspirant, or one of the all-time greats - a car full of hot, sweaty, hikers, in a fogged up, undersized car at the end of a cool days hike,
After hiking Mt Moriah, and lunching at the summit, my wife fell victim to northern exposure of the process which inspired the quoted writing of Suckling, the heaven bound, yet condemned, burps of a balsamic chicken feast. What can I say, she has always encouraged more elaborate lunches. I felt bad for her, because for the oft, yet unexplainable, pauses I took when resting as we descended, I must admit that walking into a wall of my own burps made me a bit weak in the knees. The intestinal modus Sir John Suckling endeavored to capture so accurately, as we all know, has, of course, another means of expressing itself. But for know, I will leave that to the readers other great sense, that of one's imagination.
By the time our day was almost complete, we had enjoyed a hike that was almost perfect. At the top of Mt Surprise we sat down, pulled out some apples, and watched as capping clouds over Madison occasionally permitted but a ray or two of light to escape, with a pace of hesitance, and trace themselves down to the awaiting forests below. It was if watching time and beauty converge in slow motion.
It should never surprise us when we contemplate how these mountains add so much to our powers of perception. They help us appreciate and invigorate what we see, hear, feel, and yes, even smell. And it turns it makes us realize that getting outside and hiking, well, perhaps that makes the most sense of all.
Greetings from Mt Moriah!
Which brings me to autumn. It is way too easy to assume that the sense most exhilarated by its rite would be visual. But on our hike to Moriah, my wife and I ended up in discussion regarding another sense that to us seemed even more appropriate.
We had spent Sunday doing trail patrol in the Franconia South region. It rained the whole time, not withstanding, we had seen a large amount of hikers descending, weather-beaten, tired, but amidst their countenance, a spark that said they wished to linger in the forests longer. Our hike to Moriah was free time for us this week. It would be #46 for my wife. Upon arriving at the trailhead we met a senior couple who had just recently adopted the lower half of the Carter-Moriah Trail. We started ahead of them, and we were poking along, previewing the work ahead of them. I stopped to examine a clogged waterbar, and out of sheer curiosity, kicked it open. I had just opened a can of autumn.
Yes, it is to the nose I wish to dedicate this hike, that olfactory sense that serves us so well. For up from the ground came that delightfully decaying, vibrant, both woodsy and earthy smell that tells me exactly what time of year it is. That multi-faceted, yet singular fragrance tells me it is the time of pumpkin pies, wood piles and wood fires, cool crisp mornings capped with a feeling that only the sun at its day end, its weak fingerlings providing a fading prescence of warmth, which causes a glow in one's blood.
As we hiked over Mt Surprise and its beautiful ledges, my wife and I compared scenting notes on what came to us. We are not sure of either the source, or the scientific explanation for these perfumes, but here they are: the smell of school cafeteria peas - yes the ones marked Grade D but edible-,the aroma of fried food, or one of my favorites, the bouquet of homemade granola bars. There are many more scented balms out there that excite me: a fir forest, dark earth in my nostrils, or the smell of rain soon to fall in the woods. The list goes on and on.
But I would be remiss if I were to omit another source of aromas, and I will introduce it with a short quotation by Sir John Suckling. Now, I learned about Suckling in high school. Had I known then, what I know now, I certainly would have held him in even higher esteem.
"Love is the fart of every heart,
for when held in, doth pain the host.
but when released, pains others most."
Indeed, there are many scents of which we are the source, so please, lend your humor to me: a set of wet, clammy hiking clothes, dirty boots and feet, lack of deodorant and/or anti-perspirant, or one of the all-time greats - a car full of hot, sweaty, hikers, in a fogged up, undersized car at the end of a cool days hike,
After hiking Mt Moriah, and lunching at the summit, my wife fell victim to northern exposure of the process which inspired the quoted writing of Suckling, the heaven bound, yet condemned, burps of a balsamic chicken feast. What can I say, she has always encouraged more elaborate lunches. I felt bad for her, because for the oft, yet unexplainable, pauses I took when resting as we descended, I must admit that walking into a wall of my own burps made me a bit weak in the knees. The intestinal modus Sir John Suckling endeavored to capture so accurately, as we all know, has, of course, another means of expressing itself. But for know, I will leave that to the readers other great sense, that of one's imagination.
By the time our day was almost complete, we had enjoyed a hike that was almost perfect. At the top of Mt Surprise we sat down, pulled out some apples, and watched as capping clouds over Madison occasionally permitted but a ray or two of light to escape, with a pace of hesitance, and trace themselves down to the awaiting forests below. It was if watching time and beauty converge in slow motion.
It should never surprise us when we contemplate how these mountains add so much to our powers of perception. They help us appreciate and invigorate what we see, hear, feel, and yes, even smell. And it turns it makes us realize that getting outside and hiking, well, perhaps that makes the most sense of all.
Greetings from Mt Moriah!
Last edited:
