Cannon Mountain NH

The first time I summited Cannon was in June of 1995 on my first Icebreaker Hike with Wilderness staff from Camp Calumet. The day was perfect and the view beckoned us across the valley for a 2nd day on the Lafayette Range, in lieu of our original plan to hike the Kinsmans.

We were lead by D-Guy (Don) Johnson, the executive director of the camp, who loved the outdoor experience, but was so busy in his guidance of the camp that he seldom had the opportunity to enjoy it himself. He made sure that the Icebreaker was that opportunity each year. D-Guy also loved the food and the bunks at the AMC Huts, so we lived in relative comfort in spite of the rigor of the hike. Joining Don and I were a diverse group of counselors: David Hall from New Zealand, Lara Coleman of South Africa and Skip Slocum from Michigan.

We arrived at the Lonesome Lake Hut in the middle of the afternoon and quickly decided the 1.7 mile hike to Cannon and back would be short enough for us to get back for dinner. Hiking the Lonesome Lake Trail to its junction with the Kinsman Ridge Trail in the col between Cannon and the Cannonballs went easily but the scramble up Cannon was another story. By the time we reached the Rim Trail and the view east our legs were screaming for oxygen. The distress dissolved once we took in the broad vista facing us. It's no wonder the Old Man choose that face of the mountain to reside.

The next day was re-routed down through the Notch, up Falling Waters Trail, over Lincoln and Lafayette and down to Greenleaf Hut for our second night's stay.

In addition to some awesome weather and great hiking, we enjoyed D-Guy's late night reading of "the Cremation of Sam MacGee" and endured the overnight snoring of a certain member of group. (Dave moved to a vacant bunkroom and thus was above suspicion.) Sharing our wilderness and devotional stories established a camaraderie that continued unabated through the summer, ending only with tearful good-byes.

This past weekend I returned to Lonesome Lake Hut with Beth and her brother, Charlie, his bride of 6 months, Luz Maria, and her thirteen-year-old son Ignatio (Nacho for short), who were visiting from Chile. After a night at the hut we split in two groups, with Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria heading back down to the Notch, and Nacho and I retracing my ascent of 13 years ago. Again, I was lulled by the ease of the Lonesome Lake Trail and then struggled up the formidable scramble of Cannon's southwest shoulder. Nacho speaks little English and I don't go much beyond 'hola' in Spanish, so our stops for 'photos' at each trail junction gave us a level of communication and served to break up the climb.

We met Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria at the summit tram terminal and escorted them around the Rim Trail to much the same view as I'd first seen 13 years ago. It was quite a coincidence to again have two people with me in this spot, who were born in the Southern Hemisphere.

This ascent of Cannon varied in two significant ways though--we took the tram down and saved our knees for another day, and the Old Man was no longer there, having fallen to the valley a number of years ago. As Tom Rush says, "it's strange to have outlived a geological formation."

Charlie, Luz Maria and Nacho are heading back to Chile and in parting last night, Nacho said: "we climb mountain again!" Anytime, Nacho.

Jefferson NH

In August of 1968, I was the guest of a high school girlfriend and her family at their summer home in Jefferson, NH. We did quite a bit of hiking--Dome Rock, Cherry Mountain, Webster Cliffs--in preparation for a hike up Mt. Washington. I'd done quite a lot of hiking with my father when I was younger, including climbs of Katahdin and Marcy, so I was excited to scale New Hampshire's highest. Carolyn was an outstanding high school cross country skier and bill, her Dad, worked out daily during an age when middle age men just gained weight. Jean, Carolyn's Mom, needed to work up to the climb, and that she did--her first of Mt. Washington ever.

The view from their front porch is awe-enspiring. The expanse of the Presidential Range to the southeast includes, fittingly from this point-of-view, Mt. Jefferson most prominently, and Mt. Washington and Mt. Monroe to the right. No mountain-lover can resist the lure of the Presidentials after taking in this vista.

As I remember it, Carolyn and I took side trips up Mt. Jackson, Mt. Clay (which of course doesn't count for anything--this is a shame topographically and historically, in my opinion) and Mt. Monroe, and so by the time the vacation was over, I had 3 of the 48 NH 4,000 peaks under my belt. Growing up in New York, I knew of a similar list for the Adirondacks and filed the New Hampshire experience away for future reference. I wouldn't climb another NH 4,000 peak until 1995, although I ran the race up the Mt. Washington Auto Road twice in the seventies.

While we were in Jefferson, the Republican National convention was being held in Miami. The country had suffered the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr and Bobby Kennedy in recent months and the political tension in the country would boil over in the streets of Chicago later in the summer. I vividly remember hoping New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller would come through as a dark-horse for the presidential nomination. My father commented frequently that he liked Rockefeller for his willingness to admit he was wrong and adjust accordingly, a trait most politicians, then or now, seem to be lacking. Turns out Rockefeller was a minority of one, but I didn't realize it then. History records Richard Nixon as the victor for the nomination, although he turned out to be the biggest loser.

Interesting how far we've come in 40 years. In 1968, we were in a war we couldn't win, the presidency was determined by the segregationist 3rd party candidate, George Wallace, and women had no place in the process. Though we weren't at war in 1988, the Iran-Contra scandal was fresh on our minds and race played a huge role in the presidential election as a result of the "Willie Horton" ads which doomed Michael Dukakis. We'd forgotten Geraldine Ferraro's 1984 Vice-Presidential candidacy.

Today we have a African-American presidential candidate, a woman who is equally as formidable just missing the nomination and a war we can't win. Well, some things change. But, however slowly over the 40 years, we have seen a huge change in our country.

I read the New York Times online daily, a habit I picked up from my father. (His was a hardcopy habit) There have been a number of articles in the Times lately sharing this 40 year perspective. Two of the better ones are noted with links below:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/07/opinion/07herbert.html

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/09/opinion/09krugman.html

As I reflect my accomplishment, yesterday, of climbing all 48 NH 4,000 foot peaks, I can't help but reflect on the 39 years, 10 months and a few days that it took to do it.

In his article,Bob Herbert suggests a victory lap "for all those in every station in life who ever refused to submit quietly to hatred and oppression. They led us to a better place." In a way, yesterday's climb was my celebration of that better place.

And what better place than the summit of Mt. Garfield. Thankfully, the 48 NH 4,000 peaks haven't changed all that much in 40 years.

Mt. Garfield

At 11:03 AM today, just under 39 years and 11 months from the date I summited the first of 48 New Hampshire 4,000 foot peaks, I reached the summit of Mt. Garfield. 48/48

I'd say I left the best for last!

Garfield, at 4,500,' is 17th on the list and smack dab in the middle geographically.

Roughly 30 of the other 48 are visible from the summit, including the Lafayette range to the west and Twins and Bonds to the east. Mt Washington is visible over the shoulder of North Twin. Today's view, thanks to a morning window of clear weather, was brilliant.

When Beth and I got back to the car, a congratulatory note from Tom and Atticus was under the wiper blades. Thanks guys!

Mt. Waumbat

Late last year, my oldest son Caleb decided to start climbing the 48 New Hampshire 4,000 foot peaks. He has noted the irony that, having been brought up in the Conway, NH area, he waited until he lived in Southern Massachusetts to begin his quest.

He drove up Friday to spend a belated Mother's Day with his mom and stay overnight with us in Dixfield. Saturday was reserved for a climb, and I suggested Mt. Waumbek (#46 at just over 4,000) near Jefferson. South-facing, and therefore likely to be free of snow at elevation, Waumbek is also a moderate climb of 3.6 miles, crossing Starr King Mountain (3,900+) in the process. A good, first climb of the spring.

Caleb agreed to my suggestion, but in his idiosyncratic way, proceeded to fracture the name of our target; hence, it is now referred to as Mt. Waumbat. (His explanation: "I was pronouncing the mountain's name correctly; I just seem to have picked up a strong Massachusetts accent.")

The day was cloudy, with sun peaking through occasionally and a brisk wind rushing through the forest on the final ridge walk to the summit. Conversation was plentiful through the ascent but disappeared as we headed down, the entire hike covering 4 hours. It might have been quicker but I stopped on the way to get numerous shots of purple Trillium for Beth, who was home writing a brief for the law court. She loves wildflowers.

I'm terrible at remembering the names of these creatures but thought she would appreciate the pictures. This seems to have been a good choice, as her book, "Wildflowers of the White Mountains," refers to these purples as Sweet Beth.

Caleb headed south for Massachusetts and I proceeded east on Route 2, having had a good workout. He's now at 9/48.

I'm one peak short of the 48 and looking forward to my Garfield climb, sooner than later this year. Until last year, I hadn't really thought much about climbing them all, but more on that later.