Alexandersmap

    Category: Hiking

    • A Hike Up the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail to Mount Monroe and Mount Washington

      There haven’t been a lot of hiking blog posts this year as there simply haven’t been a lot of hikes. Similarly, there haven’t been a lot of waterfall visits or posts either. Life sometimes has other plans for us. So imagine my delight when I could combine two 4000 footers with one of the highest rated waterfalls in New England. You might day we hit the trifecta, but we didn’t stop at three amazing experiences. On a spectacular October day after a day of heavy rains, we were set up for quite a day in the White Mountains.

      That heavy rain factored in to where we parked and which trail head we started from. The easy button on this day was to pay the fee for parking at the Cog Railway parking lot and hiking up the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail. This is a relatively easy trail to warm up on, until you hit the gem pool and begin a steep incline. This was a workout for this author, recently celebrating long streaks of 10,000 steps on flat land and thinking that translated into better fitness, but it was a small price to pay for the spectacular views of falling water and, once above tree line, the vistas from Mount Monroe and Mount Washington. Ironically, my Apple Watch died halfway through the hike and my streak of 10K steps “ended” on a day I did far more. Go figure.

      The Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail offers plenty of opportunity to see falling water. The Gem Pool is a lovely spot with a 35 foot waterfall right on the trail and impossible to miss. Further along, there’s a side spur that features a more stunning view of a 600-700 foot cascade that was roaring on this particular day. Some blown-down trees partially blocked the spur trail but it was a small investment in time for an incredible view. Talking to one hiker as we came back to the main trail, I mentioned that it was totally worth the side trip. He politely ignored me and continued his hike up to Mount Monroe. I wondered, how many incredible moments do we miss out on when we’re so singularly focused on a goal? To use Pico Iyer’s phrase, we abdicate possibility in such moments.

      The trail eventually brings you to the AMC Lakes of the Clouds Hut, closed for the season when we arrived, but offering a warm sunny spot to take a break before continuing to summit Mount Monroe. This is where serendipity stepped in, and we bumped into the two sons of a close friend as they descended from Monroe just after we’d done the same. A few minutes for either party and the encounter would never have happened. Life is full of such chance encounters when we put ourselves in a position to experience them.

      The hike to Mount Washington from Mount Monroe looks relatively simple, but that’s the White Mountains for you. The reality is a hike up a boulder field one deliberate step at a time. Some trail runners make quick work of this, for me it was an opportunity to pace myself. The two sons were soon summiting Mount Washington while I took my sweet time. My hiking buddy Tom was kind enough to wait for me now and then. Getting back in hiking shape after months away from it takes a few hikes. Resuming my quest to complete the 48 4000 footers on the highest peak wasn’t reckless (Washington is relatively easy compared to some lower peaks), but it was bold.

      On this particular day, the Mount Washington Observatory was celebrating its 90th birthday with tours of the weather station. This was a wonderful opportunity to see what happens behind that door, and literally top the experience off with a climb to the weather observatory itself, the highest point you can stand on in New England, and have a look around. Opportunities like that don’t come along often, and it was another moment of serendipity on this day of days.

      If this all sounds like it was too good to be true, well, I still had to pay penance for the audacity of hiking two of the highest peaks in one day. That price was paid in the form of a pair of boots that weren’t up to the task, making the descent rather painful, and with some cramping in the thighs as the finish was just in sight. There were lessons learned on this day: Don’t ever go on a hike unprepared for the things you’ll put yourself through, and always have the best boots available to help finish the job. If there’s a positive lesson, and you’ve no doubt picked up on it already, it’s that putting yourself out there pays dividends in experience both challenging and inspiring. We may live a grander and more full life simply by moving towards it.

      Upper Ammonoosuc Ravine Falls
      Gem Pool, Ammonoosuc Ravine
      Mount Washington from Mount Monroe. Looks close, doesn’t it?
      Mount Monroe
      Lake of the Clouds with Mount Washington rising above it all

    • Freedom in Less

      “Never own more than you can carry in both hands at a dead run.”― Robert Heinlein

      I’ve been known to overpack for a hike. Better too much gear than not enough, I tell myself as I haul that extra weight over hill and dale. There’s a lot to be said for being prepared for anything, but let’s not overdo it. No reason to pack for a week for a day hike.

      Why do we wait for such things as moving or hiking to consider eliminating the unnecessary clutter out of our lives? Witnessing those who downsize, the process seems painful. We’ve all heard that expression “You can’t take it with you.” If you only have enough things to move at a moment’s notice, well, it seems like you just might be free.

      Lighten the load, and find freedom.

    • Pack Light

      “Travel like Ghandi, with simple clothes, open eyes and an uncluttered mind.” – Rick Steves

      Packing for a trip, or for a hike, informs. It teaches us what we can do without. And it turns out we can do without a lot of things. Add a few layers, a few event-specific bits of fashion if you must, and always (always!) good shoes. Don’t forget your toothbrush. If you have to weigh your suitcase to keep it under the limit you’re doing something wrong. The goal with suitcases and backpacks is the same: maximize the empty space available to you. Simplify.

      The lesson here naturally applies to all things. We ought to live a more simple, uncluttered life. We ought to speak less and listen more. We ought to write with more brevity and fewer clever words we throw around too often (like brevity).

      We carry too much baggage with us. We use too many words. We speak too much. Simplify and open enough space to experience the world. Navigate the world as a poet might do. With lightness and an eye for detail.

    • Seeing the World Wherever You Are

      “The wise man knows that it is better to sit on the banks of a remote mountain stream than to be emperor of the whole world.” ― Zhuang Zhou

      We anticipate what we believe we’ll find in the world, when we get out there to meet it. There’s a level of understanding that comes with experiencing first-hand the grandeur of this planet. We humans have our quietly persistent bucket lists that range from Paris to Machu Picchu to the Grand Canyon to the Appalachian Trail. We hear that siren question us: When will we listen and finally go?

      I may sound like a one-trick pony at times, writing about such things as wanderlust and the urgency of now. But I’m just as content walking in an old forest nearby, walking across landscapes that have changed or stubbornly remained the same with the history of this continent. There is an entire world to see within throwing distance of wherever we are at this moment.

      Restlessness may be the soul telling us we haven’t arrived quite yet. Then again, it may mean that we haven’t seen what is right in front of us yet. To fully savor life we must learn to pause and see the richness of the world wherever we are. That doesn’t mean we’ve arrived where we are meant to go, but we’ll never fully immerse ourselves in this business of living if we are constantly planning our escape.

      That doesn’t mean we ought to wrap ourselves in a blanket of comfortably familiar routine. Life demands that we go out and meet it, comfort be damned. But let’s not rush past every mountain stream on our climb to the pinnacle. If hiking teaches us anything, it’s that the highlight real isn’t always the summit, but what we’ve encountered along the way.

      Life isn’t that highlight real of places we’ve been, but the person we became in each step. The world is out there, but also right here. Waiting for us to see it. Our world is this next step.

    • I Saw Tranquility

      “Deep in the forest there is something sacred that exists without a perceptible function. This is the central core, the navel of the world, and I want to return to that place.” — Hayao Miyazaki

      Last month I walked through a forest with several coworkers on a group hike. One of them commented that the naked trees were spooky and reminded him of The Blair Witch Project. I looked around and saw something completely different. And two days later I doubled down on that place and hiked alone in the dark before dawn with a failing headlamp. The things we do for love.

      So much of the world is what we perceive it to be. I may find tranquility in a stand of trees, someone else sees a buildable lot and the trees themselves as a commodity to haul off to the mill. America was built on such vision. Thankfully there are people who saw the land as something timeless and preserved it. Were we to level every forest where would we ever find ourselves?

      The trees are beginning to leaf out in the Northern Hemisphere, transforming the naked landscape. Soon the forest will hide things that are apparent in colder months. Leaves bring deep shade and mystery to the forest. Often what we see appears distinctly different from one person to another. What the forest is really showing us is not itself, but our own nature. My hiking friend that day saw horror in the naked forest. I saw tranquility.

    • A Pre-Dawn Waterfall Chase

      Harriman State Park in New York is the second largest state park in the state, and honestly it feels pretty big when you’re in it. Still, it doesn’t feel like there should be this kind of elbow room so close to the gridlock of Metro NY. And yet here it is.

      This story began two days ago, when I participated in a group hike with several co-workers. As these things go, our available time for hiking got compressed and we had a couple of people who were a bit slower than the average hiker speed. Combined this created a situation where we had a little more than an hour to hike one of Harriman’s most popular trails, the Reeves Brook Trail Loop. Instead of reaching a waterfall and pond we’d been hoping for, we had to cut the trip short and head back. Still, that waterfall stayed with me.

      There was only one thing to do: get up early and take a solo hike to find it. If there’s a problem with April hikes, it’s that it doesn’t really get light out until close to 6 AM. I didn’t have that kind of time and headed out at 5:30 in search of the waterfall. I had a headlamp with a weak battery and two iPhones as backup for light, but found I didn’t really need any of that once my eyes adjusted. It helped that I’d done a good part of the trail two days earlier and knew the landmarks that might otherwise have been a mystery in the dark.

      I eventually found that waterfall, just ten minutes away from where we’d turned around on the previous hike. So close and yet so far. But the waterfall looked smaller than I’d anticipated, so to be sure I hiked another ten minutes up to a bridge where the trail split. Looking at my watch, I recognized that there was no way I’d have the time to hike the entire loop around the Reeves Brook Trail Loop…. damn. The pond and rock scrambles would have to wait for another day. I headed back down with a solid hike completed and a hot shower waiting for me. And like the waterfall before, the pond now calls my name. Knowing there’s so much more to see, I’ll carve out half a day for going much deeper into the network of trails next time. Definitely something to look forward to.

      Stony Brook lives up to it’s name
      An elusive waterfall, wrapped in boulders and capped with a bridge.
      Crossing this bridge convinced me that I’d best turn back and try again another day for the pond.

    • A Quick Hike Up the Nose

      Let’s get the elephant in the room addressed right off the bat: Anthony’s Nose has an odd name. Here’s one story I came across in Kiddle that describes how it got it:

      “Pierre Van Cortlandt, who owned this mountain, said it was named for a pre-Revolutionary War sea captain, Anthony Hogan. This captain was reputed to have a Cyrano de Bergerac type nose. One of his mates, looking at this mount, as they sailed by it, compared it to that of the captain’s nose. He said that they looked similar in size. This good-natured joke soon spread, and the name Anthony’s Nose stuck to this peak. Washington Irving’s History of New York, a satire, attributes the name to one Antony Van Corlear, who was the trumpeter on Henry Hudson’s ship.”

      Whatever the source, it requires that each hiker now forever able to say they went up Anthony’s Nose. How you feel about that is entirely up to you. For me, the motivation was to see a bridge I hadn’t seen in almost 30 years, get a quick hike in to break up a long drive and get a feel for a stretch of the Hudson River from a hill top.

      There are a few routes up Anthony’s Nose (sorry). The most direct route is a steep granite “staircase” that brings you to your destination relatively quickly. This requires street parking on a busy stretch of road. Alternatively, there are a couple of longer routes to the lookout spot, the one I favored followed the white blazes of the Appalachian Trail. The AT crosses the Bear Mountain Bridge over the Hudson River and meanders up through a final stretch of New York before reaching Connecticut. You might expect a stretch of the AT to be lovely hiking. You’d be correct for this stretch.

      There seems to be a lot of confusion about where the trailhead is for Anthony’s Nose. If you’re going to hike straight up the staircase, you begin at a small deck on the side of the road not far from the bridge. If you’re more interested in a 90 minute round trip hike, take the AT route. The trailhead begins on South Mountain Pass Road, which is a rutted stone dust road for a long stretch. If you’ve got a small sedan you might consider driving in from the Blue Mountain Beacon Highway side, which offers a bit more pavement to work with. Driving a truck, I enjoyed the off-road feel of reaching the trailhead after a few hours of highway driving to get there.

      The key for the trail is to follow the white blazes, which leave an old roadbed a few hundred yards up and begin descending towards a small stream before climbing back along the ridge line. The trail head would benefit from a bit of signage and a map, as one hiker after another asked each other if they were in the right spot. Perhaps a Boy Scout Troop could take it on as a project.

      The hike took 90 minutes round trip. Parts of the trail felt like you were in the middle of the White Mountains, but with glimpses of the Hudson River along the way. There was a bit of traffic buzz in the background, but overall it was a perfect hike to break up a drive from New Hampshire to New Jersey for me, or a short destination hike away from New York City. I’d recommend bringing lunch and soaking up the view.

      Bear Mountain Bridge with it’s namesake rising up behind it

    • Developing Identity

      At what point on the line of consistent routine does a habit accelerate from a regular part of your life to a major part of your identity? Put another way, if we are what we repeatedly do, at what moment does what we do become us? It may be that moment when you can’t imagine doing anything else but this habit now and forever. But I think it’s a notch beyond that: when others see you as that character you’ve developed into and that habit is reinforced and self-perpetuates.

      Consider a friend who has only been consistently hiking for maybe ten years. Her identity developed around hiking and she’s gained hundreds of followers on her InstaGram account because people associate an activity they want to do more of with her. Or consider my bride, who has run consistently since she was a teenager. Half the town knows her as that lady that’s always out running. Heck, I sometimes think of her as that lady too. Consistent routine develops identity. Identity becomes the essence of who we are.

      But both of these women began with a first awkward step out into the unknown. Both learned what worked for them and what definitely was not going to work. The essence of who we are is derived from what is essential for us. The rest is marketing. You either inform the world of who you’ve become or wait for them to see it for themselves.

      Like a river carving its deepest channel on its truest route, what we say yes and no to as we favor our chosen path becomes the deepest part of our channel. In a river oxbows gather silt and are eventually cut off altogether in favor of the channel. Likewise, some things that were so very much a part of our identity peter out and die from lack of attention. I once fancied myself a sailor, yet I don’t currently have a boat. A friend also fancied himself a sailor and purposefully accelerated and reinforced that identity by trading up to bigger and bigger boats and forgoing career advancement for a log book full of hopes and dreams realized. Who’s the sailor?

      I’m about to click publish on this blog, as I’ve done every day for a few years running now. Does that make me a writer? The answer is what you want it to be. Decide what to be and go be it. And then inform the world (and yourself) with your consistency.

    • The Place You Were Meant to Be

      Build a new house down by the sea
      Get to the place we were meant to be
      You’ll know it when you smile
      —       World Party, When the Rainbow Comes

      Do you ever wonder why people are drawn to the seashore? Is it the taste of salt, or the sound of waves crashing on the beach? These are lovely things indeed. But I think it’s also the place where our world opens up to the universe, where the view is the same for us today as it was for some soul living 10,000 years ago. And so long as we don’t screw it up it will be the same 10,000 years hence. All rivers flow to the ocean, and so must we.

      Ah, but what of the source? The rivers all flow from the highest points downward. And we often look up and wonder what we might find when we get there. For the mountains whisper differently than the sea, but no less persistently. When you walk amongst the peaks you feel like you might touch the sky, and the song in the wind feels as timeless as the crash of the ocean. Do we become breathless in the mountains from exertion or from awe? I should think both.

      The thing is, we tend to be drawn to the edges; both source and sea. Yet most people settle in between. Is this a compromise between the places we love, or simply a pragmatic nod to efficiency? When you live at one end or the other you necessarily have a longer journey to the middle, let alone to what lies beyond. Crops don’t grow in beach sand or on granite summits. Somebody has to keep things going in the middle. Call it a happy medium if you will. But does settling in the middle like everyone else bring you happiness, or is it just settling?

      Life pulls us in different directions, and most of us settle somewhere in the middle. But the magic resides at the edges of our comfort zone. And deep down you know you’ve reached the place you were meant to be when you smile.

    • Seeking the Unfinished Parts

      “The tops of mountains are among the unfinished parts of the globe, whither it is a slight insult to the gods to climb and pry into their secrets, and try their effect on our humanity. Only daring and insolent men, perchance, go there.”― Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods

      The White Mountains of New Hampshire are my destination of choice when I seek “unfinished parts of the globe” close to home. Lately I haven’t summited many mountains, what with life and all. But I still seek them out and hope for more time to pry into their secrets.

      I took the easy route for the sunrise picture below, standing beside a large window at the Mount Washington Hotel and immersed in Victorian elegance while looking out at the Presidential Range. Opting for the quick picture instead of hiking up to greet them in person might seem like cheating. Not very daring or insolent at all, really. But then again, the picture wasn’t going to wait for me to exit the building, let alone climb a trail. And so here it is, reflections and all, to remind me that there are mountains still to climb. Should we dare to go there.