Mt. Redington proved to be an elusive summit in the June fog and mist as Beth, Mike and Katie and I followed the herd-path from South Crocker to the col between the peaks. Engulfed in new growth spruce we gave up and returned to the AT leaving Redington for another day. For me, Wednesday this week was the day.
Armed with research from Views From the Top and the AMC, this turned out to be one of my favorite hikes. It's really not much more than a walk in the 
wilderness, the climb itself is very forgiving and the views north (to the Crockers nearby and Bigelow Range beyond) are excellent. A test wind tower is apparently the reason for the trail from the logging operation below and the summit clearing and the tower has collapsed (as has the initial proposal for wind generation on the peak). The hiker's log is found in a canister marked 
"3984," obviously placed there before the shift in techtonic plates or the AMC guide, as it's now considered 4010. I've decided to climb all peaks in New England currently listed between 3950 and 4000 in case of a future shift.
wilderness, the climb itself is very forgiving and the views north (to the Crockers nearby and Bigelow Range beyond) are excellent. A test wind tower is apparently the reason for the trail from the logging operation below and the summit clearing and the tower has collapsed (as has the initial proposal for wind generation on the peak). The hiker's log is found in a canister marked 
"3984," obviously placed there before the shift in techtonic plates or the AMC guide, as it's now considered 4010. I've decided to climb all peaks in New England currently listed between 3950 and 4000 in case of a future shift. After leaving the summit, I found the well-publicized herd-path to South Crocker and before long went off it, not once but twice, before regaining my way. It was following the recent moose tracks that threw me, but I should have known--as Beth reminded me on my return home--moose don't travel in herds.
Crossing South Crocker, I made North Crocker in good time and then crossed South one more time (4X so far in two months), catching a nice view of Sugarloaf on the way back down to Caribou Valley Road.
Redington is worth 4 South Crockers any day. Fresh off my experience with the Maine Writing Project it even inspired a poem:
Ode to Mount Redington
Through meadows of grass and spruce,
greens and browns and reds
and all hues in between,
the summit beckons as a siren,
and the legs and lungs comply.
A decade before the tree-hugger
deep inside me, stood incomprehensibly,
viewing the slopes of Redington cut clear
from the top of Sugarloaf,
before swooping down its wide slopes.
Now I follow the remnants of that logging operation
and a short trail cut to install a wind tower,
a test of the strength of currents across the summit.
The tower has blown over. I guess
they have their answer.
Viewless once, the summit is cleared as well
but pleasantly so and I search for the canister
containing the hiker's log. Elevation 3984 is inscribed but
the summit has pushed its nose to 4010 in recent years,
inviting peak-baggers like me.
A herd-path, a bushwhack to neighboring Crocker
is the choice for my descent. I gave up on that route
in the reverse and rain and fog once, a month
or two before. 'Bush'-whack it is for sure--and
spruce and hemlock branches whip my face as well.
A moose has used this route of late,
huge two-toed prints lead down to the col,
then disappear, much as that hulking animal does,
mysteriously into the brush. I'm lost.
(Moose do not travel in herds, my wife has since noted.)
I wonder what road the poet would have chosen--
herd-path, moose tracks fading
into the brush, ascent to
harness the wind for future generations--
face to face with new-growth spruce.
Through meadows of grass and spruce,
greens and browns and reds
and all hues in between,
the summit beckons as a siren,
and the legs and lungs comply.
A decade before the tree-hugger
deep inside me, stood incomprehensibly,
viewing the slopes of Redington cut clear
from the top of Sugarloaf,
before swooping down its wide slopes.
Now I follow the remnants of that logging operation
and a short trail cut to install a wind tower,
a test of the strength of currents across the summit.
The tower has blown over. I guess
they have their answer.
Viewless once, the summit is cleared as well
but pleasantly so and I search for the canister
containing the hiker's log. Elevation 3984 is inscribed but
the summit has pushed its nose to 4010 in recent years,
inviting peak-baggers like me.
A herd-path, a bushwhack to neighboring Crocker
is the choice for my descent. I gave up on that route
in the reverse and rain and fog once, a month
or two before. 'Bush'-whack it is for sure--and
spruce and hemlock branches whip my face as well.
A moose has used this route of late,
huge two-toed prints lead down to the col,
then disappear, much as that hulking animal does,
mysteriously into the brush. I'm lost.
(Moose do not travel in herds, my wife has since noted.)
I wonder what road the poet would have chosen--
herd-path, moose tracks fading
into the brush, ascent to
harness the wind for future generations--
face to face with new-growth spruce.
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