Alexandersmap

    Category: seasons

    • Traction and Comfort in Winter Hiking

      The last day of January felt like it should throw up challenging hiking in New Hampshire. In fact the temperature read a solid -4 degrees at the start. But the truth is that if you aren’t breaking the trail it’s comparatively easy. The snow pack on popular trails covers up a lot of the erosion and exposed granite ankle biters that are a normal part of hiking in the White Mountains. You simply trade the pounding on your lower extremities for a different pair of challenges: traction and hours of walking with your toes pointing up.

      Think about a groomed ski slope, all corduroy and pristine. Perfect for skiing down, but imagine walking to the summit straight up that slope. How do your feet grip? How does that angle feel on your ankles and calves after about an hour? That’s the dilemma of the hiker on a snow packed trail. Snowshoes and descending butt sliders press the snow down into a version of that groomed slope, albeit it two feet wide. Step six inches off trail and your foot plunges down two feet into the abyss.

      Overcoming such challenges requires mechanical assistance. On the one hand you have micro spikes; one of the best inventions ever for handling winter traction issues. I’ve gushed about micro spikes before and generally they’re perfect for frozen packed snow. They become more challenging when the snow softens and begins to ball up under your feet. Walking on snowballs is just as enjoyable as it sounds. Another consideration is ice. I feel comfortable walking on ice with micro spikes on, but not walking up a slide with them. Trusting rubber bands with your general well being has limits. And this is where an upgrade is in order.

      A step above micro spikes are crampons, which offer more traction with a deeper spike designed to linger in your nightmares. I see crampons and think about those times I accidentally kicked myself in the back of the leg hiking in tight terrain and shudder. But then I recall a story I read about a guy who stepped out of his tent to take a leak hiking Everest or some such place. He made the unfortunate decision to not put on his crampons and promptly slid down the mountain screaming to his death. Crampons are made for comfortable late night relief in such conditions. Truthfully, I tend to avoid most “icy slide nightmare” hiking, but sometimes you run into spots where it would be the better choice. On Mount Liberty a couple of days ago I wished I’d had them a few times as I kicked my micro spikes into frozen snow hoping for footing.

      And then there are snowshoes, used by generations of people trying to get from point A to point B without post-holing every step along the way. Snowshoes have come a long way, and the best of them have crampon-like steel spikes protruding from them and a wonder for the sloped uphill hiking conditions: the heel lift. A heel lift is a metal hinge that flips up to offer welcome support for your heel. It effectively levels your foot on a slope, creating a more comfortable hiking angle. Snowshoes come in different sizes based on your weight and the type of snow you’re hiking it. I have a great set of Tubbs snowshoes that are perfect for fluffy powder walks in open terrain. Being a tall clydesdale my shoes are 36″ long, which makes them a challenge on tight trail hiking. And with the trail compacted it’s simply easier to stick with the micro spikes or crampons. Using shorter snowshoes for compacted snow would offer the best of both worlds.

      There are times when you might put all three on in the same hike. I didn’t bring crampons on my last hike but wore the snowshoes for an hour during a steep ascent in packed powder. My hiking partner that day chose to stick with micro spikes on the ascent and flew up the hill with me gasping to keep up with the extra burn of snowshoes. When I conceded and switched back to micro spikes our hiking speed equalized again. He wore his crampons on the descent while I wore micro spikes. In softening snow broken down by many hikers at that time of the day it was a toss-up. Had it been frozen and compacted as it had been in the morning the crampons would have been better.

      Ultimately accessories are successful when you start with a great pair of boots, pick the right accessory for the terrain, and are willing to switch on the fly when things change. Another truth is that if you don’t get out there in it, none of this matters. Winter is meant to be lived in fully. Being shut up in the warm house might be comforting, but don’t we spend way too much time in our houses now? Step out there. Just wear the appropriate gear.

    • Hiking Mounts Liberty and Flume

      Let the record show that on the last day of January, 2021 this author fell in love with a pile of granite atop a ridge in New Hampshire. Mount Liberty rises 4,459 feet with a prominence of 379 feet, making it one of the state’s 4000 footers. I’ve flirted with Liberty for years, but when I wiped the slate clean and re-started my pursuit of the 48 4K’s last year in the middle of a pandemic I decided to leave this very popular hike for a quieter day. How about first light on the last day of January?

      Mount Liberty was named for George Washington, but since there was already a Mount Washington Liberty seemed appropriate. It seems when you look at the mountain from a certain angle it looks like George lying in state. And sure enough, from a certain angle you can see that.

      While Liberty was the goal all along, the proximity of Mount Flume, itself a 4000 footer with the rather intriguing measurements of 4,327’/407′ prominence made it a no-brainer for a peak bagging day. Since we were hiking an out-and-back, we ended up summiting Liberty twice, making for a three summit, eleven mile hike. There’s a loop option that includes the Flume Slide Trail, but we just weren’t that ambitious (and a friend talked me out of it). Talking to a hiker with crampons who’d done it, he described it as “gnarly”. And not in a good gnarly way. Better to stick with the safer route, thank you. Mount Flume is the source of Flume Brook, which carved the spectacular gorge named, you guessed it, The Flume. It’s worth a visit on a quiet day in late spring, but best done mid-week and early to beat the crowds.

      You know right away that most people turn around after some time on Mount Liberty by the condition of the trail. The Liberty Springs Trail was compacted snow the entire hike, and the summit was completely compacted. The trail between Liberty and Flume was defined but definitely not as well-travelled. Since we started early, we were contributing to the trail break, but it was just compacted enough to keep the snowshoes strapped to the pack (more on snowshoes in tomorrow’s post).

      For this hike, I’d texted a college friend I’ve hiked with before. The two of us met at the Liberty Springs trailhead at 6:45, making us some of the first hikers to climb that morning. We saw a few people on the summit of Liberty and were soon joined by a few more. The crowd was even thinner on the summit of Flume, with just a few diehards when we arrived there. But the day was spectacular and the traffic was picking up. Our return hike to Liberty required a lot of passing maneuvers, which generally meant whoever was coming downhill to posthole into virgin snow off trail to allow someone to pass. In summer you don’t think anything of it. In deep snow you think about it every time.

      Back on a now-crowded Liberty, we had a quick snack, drank some water and began our two-hour descent. Plenty of people passed us on this leg, suggesting the return hike can be much faster for those who like to jog or butt slide down the trail. We took our time, a concession of age or wisdom or experience. I’m just not going to jog down a mountain with a full pack with snowshoes strapped on the outside. With all the traffic and the sun warming the snow the trail was breaking down a bit. Our timing was just right.

      Mount Liberty, seen from Mount Flume summit
      Trail between the summits was a winter wonderland
      USGS marker on Mount Liberty with Cannon Mountain in the background

    • The Art of Packing for a Winter Hike

      Contingencies. I pack for contingencies. Most of it stays in the bag, bulging against the sides, weighing the pack down directly onto the hip belt, as designed, and a bit on the shoulders, as is the way. First aid kit, extra warm clothing, extra food, and, it turns out, just enough water for this eleven mile trip. Snow demands micro spikes, but also snowshoes. Mine spent most of the day strapped to my backpack, but I gave them a try for about an hour of hiking before strapping them back on the pack. The compressed snow and narrow trail made wearing them more hassle than salvation. Sometimes you try out your contingencies and realize that you were better off with the original plan. But I do love those heal lifts on steep inclines.

      It was -4 degrees Fahrenheit at the start of my hike this morning. Most layers packed as contingencies went right on the body for the start of the hike. Snow has a way of being crispy and slippery when you dip below zero. And the trail we started hiking wasn’t the same trail we descended when the sun rose and warmed temperatures into the twenties. Having the right footwear and accessories is essential when you see swings in temperatures like that.

      Still, for all the contingencies planned for, most everything stayed in the pack. Sleeping pad, extra layers, way too much food, all of it mocking me on the steepest parts of the incline and for most of the descent. But as soon as you don’t pack it you know what’s going to happen. Yeah, contingencies, especially in winter, must be a part of your kit. You’ve got to have a winter pack that can handle all the extra stuff, provide tie downs for the snowshoes, and remain an afterthought for the duration of the hike. For day hikes I’ve settled on an ULA Photon pack, which offers everything I need and the space for those extras.

      Winter hiking in New Hampshire offers plenty of beautiful moments. Moments that serve as exclamation points on the trip and in your life. But winter can offer up stunning beauty and calamity quite rapidly in the White Mountains. Mother Nature doesn’t care about your feelings. You must be prepared for whatever she throws at you. And that’s what contingency packing is for. Sure it mocks you when it never gets used, but it also assures you that it will be there for you if you need it.

      The next blog post will cover the actual hike. Memorable, incredibly clear, and two more 4000 footers checked off. Stay tuned, there’s a lot to cover.

    • In the Grace of the World

      “When despair for the world grows in me
      and I wake in the night at the least sound
      in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
      I go and lie down where the wood drake
      rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
      I come into the peace of wild things
      who do not tax their lives with forethought
      of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
      And I feel above me the day-blind stars
      waiting with their light. For a time
      I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”
      – Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

      The iPhone is a blessing and a curse, for all that it brings. Sometimes you want to be away from the made up frenzy of short traders and politicians and debates about which quarterback is best (long since answered).  Great for a picture and for safety in a pinch, but best left stowed away the rest of the time. I used to post pictures while I was still on the summit of a mountain, for that we’re here! moment. But the act of posting takes you out of the moment, and so I leave it be until later in the day locked in as a memory of what was. #saveitforlater

      Walks outside in quiet places serve the body, but mostly the mind. Free from the frenzy we create for ourselves. One notification at a time, relentlessly poking a hole in your soul. What have we done to ourselves with all of these pings and vibrations? Pavlov couldn’t have dreamed up a more diabolical experiment in self-torture.

      “To go out of your mind at least once a day is tremendously important. By going out of your mind, you come to your senses.” – Alan Watts

      The wind shakes the house and reminds me to bundle up. January days are short in New Hampshire, so you’ve got to get creative with your time in the grace of the world. The edges of the day work, and sometimes, dog-less as I am at the moment, late night star-gazing walks with a flashlight or headlamp to fill in the blanks and keep stray cars at bay.

      I’ve learned to pause longer. To fill the void with more silence. To quiet the mind and seek out small pockets of stillness. Time flies by anyway, but it feels like yours once again. Isn’t it, in the end? Step outside. Find the stillness. It’s out there waiting for you.

    • Hummingbirds in Winter

      “For unless one is able to live fully in the present, the future is a hoax. There is no point whatever in making plans for a future which you will never be able to enjoy. When your plans mature, you will still be living for some other future beyond. You will never, never be able to sit back with full contentment and say, “Now, I’ve arrived!” Your entire education has deprived you of this capacity because it was preparing you for the future, instead of showing you how to be alive now.” – Alan Watts

      I was thinking about flowers. Specifically, Bee Balm (Monarda). The blooms of next summer are currently scheming in the frozen turf of the garden, awaiting the heat of late June and July to burst onto the scene. In that respect, I share more in common with the flower than the hummingbird, which ignores border restrictions altogether and zips down to Mexico and Central America for the winter. You think that snowbird expression invented itself? The hummingbird is one of many birds that bolts the limited prospects of survival in the north for the tropics.

      Still, I don’t mind winter, when we have it. This year is a confusion of rain and frigid temperatures, but no significant snow to speak of just yet. But that’s the world we live in now, with seasons shifted slightly askew, and some uninformed loud people thinking climate change is a hoax, like COVID and election results and any science that doesn’t jibe with their worldview.

      I imagine the hummingbirds I got to know last summer are doing the Macarina with friends from around North America in some tropical paradise right about now. And why shouldn’t they? They flew 3000 miles and straight across the Gulf of Mexico to arrive in the tropics. So go on: guzzle that nectar and dance to your heart’s content!

      Back here in the frozen north, we wonder when the snow might return again, and then the flowers, and finally the hummingbirds. But, as Watts points out, we can’t live in the future, we can only embrace what we have now. We keep things going here, the dormant flowers and their gardener, making the most of what we’ve got until warmer days and open borders.

      As a gardener, I know there’s merit in planning for the future that Watts doesn’t account for in the quote above. Amending the soil, sowing, weeding and generally seeing your crop through to harvest are inherently forward-looking activities that happen in the present. There’s nothing wrong with knowing where you’re going while living fully in the present. Watts knew this too of course, but you can’t wedge everything into one clever quote.

      Here in New Hampshire, I’m packing as much alive time as possible into each day as it presents itself. In six months time, should we be fortunate to arrive there together, I’ll get reacquainted with the hummingbirds, who like to hover at eye level and check out the character who tends the garden for them. They’ll have squeaky tales of perilous travel over open water and jungle reunions with cousins. What shall my own tales be for them? Don’t we owe it to them to make it interesting?

    • The Wait

      Christmas morning for early risers is all about the wait. The scene is set, the stockings are strung by the chimney with care and stuffed full of candy and knickknacks and gift cards. The coffee is made, sipped down, and sometimes made again. The waiting game has begun.

      Back when the kids were in the magic age when Santa Claus and Rudolph dominated the conversation on Christmas Eve, sleep deprivation was the name of the game. You’d stay up half the night assembling the shock and awe gift of that particular season. And then they’d wake you up in a flurry of excited activity as one or the other would stir, realize what the moment was, whisper loudly to the other to wake up! and then they’d rush in to finish the job of getting you out of bed too. At the height of this mad dash we’d often be done with the early shift unwrapping by 7 o’clock.

      Not so when they reach adulthood. Now it’s all about the waiting game. The residents of the house get up in stages like it’s a Saturday morning with no place to go. We’ll get this celebration rolling around 9 o’clock I’d guess, but then again, who really knows? But they’re worth the wait.

      We won’t see everyone we’d like to see this Christmas, but we’ll add Zoom to our day and make the most of it. It’s a different vibe, but the same love. No assembly required. But maybe some tech support and reading glasses.

      Merry Christmas. And Happy Holidays. For all this year brought I hope this morning brings you Peace.

    • The Cold Water Initiation

      “Though it be the hottest day in July on land, and the voyage is to last but four hours, take your thickest clothes with you, for you are about to float over melted icebergs.” – Henry David Thoreau, Cape Cod

      The stretch of water between Cape Sable Island in Nova Scotia and Cape Cod in Massachusetts is known as the Gulf of Maine. A lot of history has floated between these two points, from Native Americans and later the Basque fishing and whaling these rich and vibrant waters to explorers like Giovanni da Verrazzano and Samuel de Champlain mapping the coast and looking for places for settlements. The Gulf of Maine remains the one constant that each would recognize, though they might wonder where all the fish went until they glance back at the developed shoreline.

      In 1604 Champlain ventured south from Port Royal to explore the coast of Maine. It was on this trip that he discovered Acadia, and further south, the “baye longue” between two capes and a long stretch of sand beaches on the present coast of New Hampshire.” (David Hackett Fischer, Champlain’s Dream. It’s on these beaches that generations of New Englanders and vacationing Canadians have discovered the truth in Thoreau’s words: this water is as cold as melted icebergs!

      Cold water gets in your blood, and you don’t celebrate it so much as accept it for what it is: a shocking reminder of how insignificant we really are. The Atlantic Ocean is divided into the Northern Atlantic and the Southern Atlantic, but really, there are divisions within divisions. A swim in Miami is not the same as a swim in Virginia, and a swim in the Hamptons on Long Island is definitely not the same as a swim at Hampton Beach in New Hampshire.

      You aren’t really a New Englander until you’ve taken the plunge into the Gulf of Maine on a hot day. It’s an initiation of sorts into the extremes. There isn’t a person who swam in early July at Hampton Beach who couldn’t relate to the bobbing passengers at the end of Titanic. The cold water hardens you, tests your mettle, and reminds you of your mortality. And that’s why I’ve grown to love a bracingly cold swim now and then. That stinging skin is a shocking reminder that you’re still very much alive… if a bit numb.

    • Brighten Up: Winter Solstice 2020

      We’ve reached the 21st day of December and the Winter Solstice: the shortest day of the year, and the beginning of brighter days. And today is also the day Jupiter and Saturn have their Great Convergence, but New England looks to be clouded over for this once-every-800-years event. Such is our fate, but at least the earth starts coaxing us back towards the sun.

      Today the earth reaches its maximum tilt of 23.5 degrees away from the sun in the northern hemisphere and towards the sun in the southern hemisphere. I hope you southern hemisphere folks have a great summer, but it’s time for a bit more brightness up here, thank you. I’m not eschewing winter, for I enjoy my time with snow. But enough with the shorter days, thank you. We in the northern hemisphere could use this symbolic beacon of hope, this turning of the page, this tilting of the earth back in our favor more this year than any other in memory.

      Symbolically, this is a good day to make things brighter for ourselves. To begin our own mental tilt back towards the sun. To introduce positive new habits, to take longer walks, exercise more, reach out to more people. The days are getting brighter once again, and even if we can’t see the Great Convergence we can at least reconnect with loved ones to make one of our own.

      Ultimately we choose how we react to the world around us. But it’s nice to at least have the sun trending back in our general direction again. And after a dark year of worsening trends, it’s nice to have one going our way.

    • Planets Dancing

      “in other breaking news
      a silver moon
      sailed
      above the world
      and the only ones
      who knew it
      were the ones who looked up”
      – Kat Lehmann, Small Stones From The River

      The skies cleared in New England after a day of heavy snow, allowing the few who ventured outside to see the waxing crescent moon looking like a giant in the western sky. A bit further along in their dip towards the western horizon was the equally stunning dance of Jupiter and Saturn. They’re slowly moving towards each other for the “Great Conjunction” on December 21st. Last night the moon was at 10% illumination, giving Jupiter and Saturn the spotlight. The three together made for a magical picture.

      I witnessed this dance across a field that cows graze on during the day, on days when it isn’t coated in snow. Last night the cows were huddled in their barn and the field sloped down towards the west, giving a wonderful view of the dance. I wonder if the cows took turns sneaking a peak through the barn door at this once in a lifetime event? Probably not. Most humans pay no attention, who can expect a cow to grasp the significance?

      Monday, December 21st seems to be trending towards rain and cloud cover. That’s par for the 2020 course, as we seem to have cloud cover for most of the celestial events this year. So maybe having the opportunity to witness something that hasn’t occurred at night since the year 1220 will be next to impossible here in New Hampshire. But we can hope for clear skies, for we’ll never see it again in our lifetimes.

      I wonder why more people aren’t lining the roads in wonder at the universe. But every day is a once in a lifetime event for each of us. Maybe we’re used to squandering moments? And maybe the world is too complex and broken for such things as great conjunctions. But I’d like to think that, maybe, they just haven’t looked up yet.

    • White Cap

      “I am in love with Ocean
      lifting her thousands of white hats
      in the chop of the storm,
      or lying smooth and blue, the
      loveliest bed in the world.”
      – Mary Oliver, Ocean

      I anticipate a white cap day on Buzzards Bay as a Nor’easter rolls through. For now the bay is restless but content to let the rain fall in abundance to its surface instead of rising up to meet it. For the march of thousands of white hats the current and wind must be more contentious than this. It will come in time, as it always does on Buzzards Bay.

      Nor’easter days are meant for hunkering down, catching up on reading and sipping hot beverages. On Cape Cod the storm will bring heavy rain and high winds. The salty water will surely rise to greet her fresh visitors. I’m a visitor myself; like a river forever moving between the mountains and the sea. I want to leave the comfort of the warm house to walk on the beach. You don’t come this far to look at it from afar. For I’m mostly water, shouldn’t I rise up to meet it too?

      Up in New Hampshire all this water will mean white hats of a different kind, with heavy snow in the mountains and clever swirls of white donning posts and mailboxes in the lower elevations. I’ll welcome the grace of snow-packed trails covering the ankle-breakers when I return to the mountains. Whenever that might be – I really don’t know. But they’ve heard my silent promise to return. We have unfinished business, those mountains and me.

      I laugh when I read polls asking where you would want to live forever. How do you choose between the mountains and the sea? Its a Sophie’s Choice question; asking one to pick between a mountain waterfall and the crashing surf. Instead I look to the Abenaki who moved for generations between the White Mountains and ocean fishing villages. They didn’t choose one over the other, they chose a life in between. And that’s where you’ll find me too.

      So today as the white caps rise, I’m reminded of the Mary Oliver poem above. I’m on the very edge of that in between for this Nor’easter, and the chop of the storm has begun. Who’s up for a walk?