Up early at 5:30 am. Into the bathroom to perform the three S’s (shave, shower, and shampoo). It’s after 6am when I roust Jace and Nate from their beds. We pack provisions for our three-man expedition to the summit of Mount Monadnock. We finally leave the house sometime after 6:30.
Off of Route 124, we turn east onto Old Shaker Farm Road and proceed down the rutted and narrow dirt lane which cuts through heavy woods before finally emerging into a small dirt parking lot. Off to our right are rock foundations, remnants of the Shaker farm which graced the land some 200 years before our Toyota rolled to a stop and spit out three anxious males. In honor of the Shakers, who carved a living from this land so many years ago, we do a little shaking ourselves as we leave the parking lot and attack the trail.
Mount Monadnock is known as the second most hiked mountain in the world. On this morning there is little indication of the mountain’s popularity. We have the trail entirely to ourselves. No other souls. It helps that we’re on the most obscure and least traveled of all the trails that snake their way to the summit.
The trail meanders through thick woods, which filter the morning sun as effectively as an Amazon jungle. The few sunbeams which make their way to the forest floor are further softened by wispy strands of morning fog which slither eerily through the trees.
For the first half mile, the trail is relatively level. It then turns vertical up the mountain. As the grade grows steep our pace slows. Jace’s 11-year old legs have a hard time keeping pace with the 24-year-old and 50-year-old legs of his brother and father. Nate and I offer encouragement and prod him on. We stop for an occasional rest. After our second break, as if on queue, there is a reversal of rolls. For the remainder of the ascent Jace forges ahead. His father assumes the roll of laggard.
Progressing up the mountain, my legs begin murmuring, quietly at first, then louder with each step. A mile into the hike I begin to deeply regret every fat-filled doughnut I’ve eaten in the past year. A quarter mile later, my regret includes every bowl of ice cream and each serving of cholesterol-laden French fries.
Half way up the mountain, the trees grow thinner. Historians claim two hundred years ago the mountain was heavily wooded to the very top, before being intentionally burned by farmers. A mile and a half into the hike we’re greeted by today’s Mount Monadnock. A few hardy shrubs fight for life on nearly bare rock. Fifteen minutes more of hiking, the shrubs give way to barren rock.
With the drama of Sir Edmund Hillary cresting Everest, we take the last grueling steps to the wind-swept summit of Mount Monadnock. The solid rock under our feet is completely void of soil or vegetation. In distant years someone has skillfully carved into the bedrock, “ELEVATION 3166 ft”. Seventy five miles to the east is the Boston skyline, which is visible on a clear day, but today is hidden in distant haze. Ninety miles to the west sits Albany, New York, also lost in the haze. The city of Keene is visible to the north.
Bathed in sunshine, we lounge on the rocks and chug Poland Spring bottled water while eating granola bars and trail mix. The wind blows briskly from the north west, drying our sweat-stained shirts. The temperature is perfect for our tired bodies. Nate and I chat idly while trying to ignore the background noise of Jace complaining over and over, “I’m bored. I’m bored.” When we’ve all had our fill of the mountain vista, we retreat down the mountain.
As we hike Nate declares that the rocks are safe haven, while the spots of soil and grass are molten lava. As we descend, outcropping bedrock becomes scarce. I am the first to step foot into lava and be instantly consumed. Nate and Jace bounce from rock to rock with great skill, determined to stay alive, but eventually succumb to the same fate as their aging father.
Half way down the mountain we come upon wild blueberry bushes. We can’t resist stopping for nature’s treat. The berries aren’t terribly plentiful on these bushes. Initially we pick and eat the perfectly ripe berries one by one. Then to enhance the experience, we wait until we have a handful before throwing them into our mouth. The result on our taste buds is an exhilarating explosion of flavor.
Intermixed among the blueberries are some unknown berries, small, dark in color. Are they poisonous? We all eat one, figuring that if we die we’ll die happy, and the resulting three-in-one funeral will save our loved ones travel expense. As it turns out they are rather tasteless and hardly worth the risk.
Jace shouts, “mother lode” when we spy more blueberry bushes in which the berries are so abundant they hang in clumps. We eat blue berries by the handful. When we have had our fill, the activity degenerates to a massive blue berry fight. Blue berry bullets fly through the air with great speed but mostly errant trajectories.
As we leave blueberry heaven and continue down the trail, Jace and Nate engage in a burping contest. Jace let’s loose with several massive belches which would make any eleven year old proud. The tone and volume are likely sufficient to de-throne Nick as the recognized family champion. But since Nick is not present, the anticipated change in the crown must wait for future head-to-head competition.
We arrive back at the van at11:20a.m., having made the round trip in about four hours. We’re all tired and thirsty. Back in town we reward our efforts with a stop at Pizza Pi. While we wait for our pizza, we quench the fire in our lactic acid-filled leg muscles by consuming generous amounts of ice cold soda. Finally our pizza arrives. As I hungrily consume three pieces, savoring the dripping-hot cholesterol-laden mozzarella cheese and grease-dripping pepperoni, my earlier misgivings of diet and health recede to the distant shadows of consciousness.
It has been a good morning. We made pleasant memories. All in all, a very good outing.
Off of Route 124, we turn east onto Old Shaker Farm Road and proceed down the rutted and narrow dirt lane which cuts through heavy woods before finally emerging into a small dirt parking lot. Off to our right are rock foundations, remnants of the Shaker farm which graced the land some 200 years before our Toyota rolled to a stop and spit out three anxious males. In honor of the Shakers, who carved a living from this land so many years ago, we do a little shaking ourselves as we leave the parking lot and attack the trail.
Mount Monadnock is known as the second most hiked mountain in the world. On this morning there is little indication of the mountain’s popularity. We have the trail entirely to ourselves. No other souls. It helps that we’re on the most obscure and least traveled of all the trails that snake their way to the summit.
The trail meanders through thick woods, which filter the morning sun as effectively as an Amazon jungle. The few sunbeams which make their way to the forest floor are further softened by wispy strands of morning fog which slither eerily through the trees.
For the first half mile, the trail is relatively level. It then turns vertical up the mountain. As the grade grows steep our pace slows. Jace’s 11-year old legs have a hard time keeping pace with the 24-year-old and 50-year-old legs of his brother and father. Nate and I offer encouragement and prod him on. We stop for an occasional rest. After our second break, as if on queue, there is a reversal of rolls. For the remainder of the ascent Jace forges ahead. His father assumes the roll of laggard.
Progressing up the mountain, my legs begin murmuring, quietly at first, then louder with each step. A mile into the hike I begin to deeply regret every fat-filled doughnut I’ve eaten in the past year. A quarter mile later, my regret includes every bowl of ice cream and each serving of cholesterol-laden French fries.
Half way up the mountain, the trees grow thinner. Historians claim two hundred years ago the mountain was heavily wooded to the very top, before being intentionally burned by farmers. A mile and a half into the hike we’re greeted by today’s Mount Monadnock. A few hardy shrubs fight for life on nearly bare rock. Fifteen minutes more of hiking, the shrubs give way to barren rock.
With the drama of Sir Edmund Hillary cresting Everest, we take the last grueling steps to the wind-swept summit of Mount Monadnock. The solid rock under our feet is completely void of soil or vegetation. In distant years someone has skillfully carved into the bedrock, “ELEVATION 3166 ft”. Seventy five miles to the east is the Boston skyline, which is visible on a clear day, but today is hidden in distant haze. Ninety miles to the west sits Albany, New York, also lost in the haze. The city of Keene is visible to the north.
Bathed in sunshine, we lounge on the rocks and chug Poland Spring bottled water while eating granola bars and trail mix. The wind blows briskly from the north west, drying our sweat-stained shirts. The temperature is perfect for our tired bodies. Nate and I chat idly while trying to ignore the background noise of Jace complaining over and over, “I’m bored. I’m bored.” When we’ve all had our fill of the mountain vista, we retreat down the mountain.
As we hike Nate declares that the rocks are safe haven, while the spots of soil and grass are molten lava. As we descend, outcropping bedrock becomes scarce. I am the first to step foot into lava and be instantly consumed. Nate and Jace bounce from rock to rock with great skill, determined to stay alive, but eventually succumb to the same fate as their aging father.
Half way down the mountain we come upon wild blueberry bushes. We can’t resist stopping for nature’s treat. The berries aren’t terribly plentiful on these bushes. Initially we pick and eat the perfectly ripe berries one by one. Then to enhance the experience, we wait until we have a handful before throwing them into our mouth. The result on our taste buds is an exhilarating explosion of flavor.
Intermixed among the blueberries are some unknown berries, small, dark in color. Are they poisonous? We all eat one, figuring that if we die we’ll die happy, and the resulting three-in-one funeral will save our loved ones travel expense. As it turns out they are rather tasteless and hardly worth the risk.
Jace shouts, “mother lode” when we spy more blueberry bushes in which the berries are so abundant they hang in clumps. We eat blue berries by the handful. When we have had our fill, the activity degenerates to a massive blue berry fight. Blue berry bullets fly through the air with great speed but mostly errant trajectories.
As we leave blueberry heaven and continue down the trail, Jace and Nate engage in a burping contest. Jace let’s loose with several massive belches which would make any eleven year old proud. The tone and volume are likely sufficient to de-throne Nick as the recognized family champion. But since Nick is not present, the anticipated change in the crown must wait for future head-to-head competition.
We arrive back at the van at11:20a.m., having made the round trip in about four hours. We’re all tired and thirsty. Back in town we reward our efforts with a stop at Pizza Pi. While we wait for our pizza, we quench the fire in our lactic acid-filled leg muscles by consuming generous amounts of ice cold soda. Finally our pizza arrives. As I hungrily consume three pieces, savoring the dripping-hot cholesterol-laden mozzarella cheese and grease-dripping pepperoni, my earlier misgivings of diet and health recede to the distant shadows of consciousness.
It has been a good morning. We made pleasant memories. All in all, a very good outing.
0 comments:
Post a Comment