This is one of my favorite hiking pictures of the boy.  It was taken on the summit of Mt. Field two years ago, just after we bagged our first 4,000-footer together.

The photo never fails to spark a longing for the mountains, which was a problem over Thanksgiving; my parents have a copy of the photo in their living room,  and we had to stare at it all weekend, while driving rain kept us inside.

It’s been a while since we’ve been on a decent hike, let alone on top of a 4,000-footer.  The shoulder between seasons is always tough — you need to plan for snow, ice, rain, wind, warm weather, slippery leaves, etc. Weekends are taken up with holiday shopping, visits, etc. But I know the boy feels the same way I do. Every day or so, he sighs and says, “I miss hiking.”

Hopefully, we’ll find some time this weekend for some restorative time in the woods, even if it’s somewhere local and not where we really long to be, which is somewhere up high, up north…

Margaret celebrates her 48th 4,000-footer.

The Mt. Washington Valley was chock-full of folks over Columbus Day weekend. Everyone had Monday off. The Fryeburg Fair was ending and the Sandwich Fair was just beginning. And the foliage was at or near its peak.

The roads weren’t the only things clogged with visitors.  The parking lot at trailhead of the Old Bridle Path was full of cars, and the overflow at the Appalachia lot stretched down Route 2.

So the boy and I set out for a more obscure peak among New Hampshire’s 48 4,000-footers. We settled on 4,006-foot Waumbek, whose wooded, viewless summit attracts relatively few hikers.

It’s not that we’re antisocial. Luke and I have met plenty of interesting people on the trail (One of them is even a TV star these days). But if we had to choose between a busy trail to a popular peak (Tuckerman Ravine up Washington) or a quieter path to a secondary summit (the Hale Brook Trail up Hale), we’ll choose the lonelier path every time.

So we were pretty pleased when we pulled into the lot for the Starr King Trail in Jefferson early Sunday morning and found only two other cars in the lot. We were a little less pleased when two other cars pulled in as we were gearing up. In all, five teams set off within two or three minutes of each other, and it looked like it was going to be one of those hikes where groups bump into each other all the way up and down the mountain.

It was one of those days. But rather than being a drag, it was one of our best hikes of the year. For the better part of three hours, we leapfrogged our way up the mountain, passing hikers who stopped to rest, then being passed in turn when we stopped for a break.

What made it fun? Everyone was having fun. People laughed, encouraged each other, shared Advil or complained about the weather (a steady, light rain turned to snow a couple of miles from the windy summit). In short, we became a community, if only for a short-time.

The highlight of the hike was the 15 or so minutes we spent on the freezing summit (31 degrees, according to one thermometer). It was the 48th and final 4,000-footer on the list for Margaret, who was hiking with three friends. The celebration included Death by Chocolate cupcakes and homemade chocolate chip cookoes, which they shared with the dozen strangers they met just a few hours ago. Another couple was handing out brownies. There was so much refined sugar being passed around that John, part of a group of five preparing for a Halloween Day hike of Owl’s Head, had no luck giving away his pound or so of salami (“It’s almost 50 percent fat. It’s the perfect hiking food.” Sorry. No deal).

A little later, 5-year-old Jack, who just finished his second 4,000-footer, started a snowball fight before tearing off down the mountain (like the rest of us, buzzed out of his mind on chocolate).

The snow had stopped and the sun had come out by the time we returned to the trailhead. We were wet, muddy and coming down from our sugar high. There were no views, and we were rarely out of sight of other hikers but it was one of our most enjoyable days in the mountains.

The obligatory summit photo.

High on life? No, high on chocolate.

Jack runs for cover after starting a snowball fight.

Looking at the Presidentials from Route 2. After the hike, of course, when the skies cleared.

The Gloucester Daily Times and reporter Jon L’Ecuyer had a nice story today about the work Kestrel Educational Adventures is doing with school kids in Rockport. As you know, the boy (a member of Kestrel’s Conservation Club) and I are climbing New Hampshire’s 48 4,000-footers in an attempt to raise money for and bring attention to the organization

An excerpt from the story:

Kestrel instructors Jessica Kagle and Amber Espar consulted with teachers and designed outdoor workshops for each grade level to go along with what students are studying in the classroom. Each class spends half a day each season in the public woodlands adjacent to the school, exploring and studying in small groups with Kestrel naturalists.

“It is great to see students so deeply engaged in learning more about their local woods,” Kagle said. “It is not only a way to open them up to nature, but also a method for teaching academic science topics in a way that is very meaningful and exciting. Almost all the kids are interested in something out there, whether it is frogs or butterflies or hawks or flowers.”

(Rockport Elementary School Principal Shawn) Maguire said the kids are “ecstatic” about the opportunity to spend time outdoors identifying the various creatures and plant species that call the town-owned Rowe Woods parcel their home. Students do not get recess on outdoor science days but they hardly notice its absence, Maguire added.

Students who would rather learn than take recess? Kestrel must be doing something right.

The original plan was to hike all 48 New Hampshire 4,000-footers in one summer. Obviously, I didn’t come close to that goal, for many reasons. I’ll spare you the details, other than to say rain, work, travel, injury, blah blah blah. It’s a story for another time.

I spent the last couple weeks moping about the house in a blue funk before realizing I was being stupid. If I’m behind schedule when I’m climbing a mountain, I don’t quit — I keep moving. So there’s no reason to stop trying to bag all of the 4,000 footers as quickly as possible. Besides, I was making myself miserable at home — at one point, I swear I could actually smell the White Mountains even though they were about 150 miles away.

The good news is the vast majority of the folks who have pledged to support Kestrel Education Adventures through my hikes have agreed to stay on board. That means we can still bring a good amount of support for a great organization, even if it will take a little longer to arrive. It will also mean climbing through the fall and into the winter at least, which will bring a whole new set of challenges.

It may take me a while to get there, but I won’t quit.

So this weekend the boy and I will be back in the Whites, summit to be determined.

Stay tuned.

Back from self-imposed blog exile. Here are some shots from the Franconia Ridge loop hike over Labor Day weekend. Back to a regular posting schedule soon.

Looking down Franconia Ridge Trail, from Lafayette to Lincoln.

Summit of Lafayette, as seen from the ridge above Greenleaf Hut.

Greenleaf Hut

Looking back at Greenleaf Hut from the summit of Lafayette, 5,260 ft. Cannon in the background.

Looking back at Lafayette from the summit of Lincoln.

No Blackberrys were harmed during the writing of this blog. Image from crackberry.com

Anyone who has hiked with me knows I’m all about slowness. My motto is ’start slow, then tail off.’

I’m only half-joking when I say it. One reason I hike slowly should be evident. I’m not called Fat Man of the Mountains for nothing — I can only move so fast.

The other reason it takes me longer than others to finish a hike is that I’m in no hurry. I love hiking. When I’m in the woods, all I’m really thinking about is being in the woods — the trail ahead, the weather above and, once I reach the top, the views beneath me. The past or future doesn’t exist when I’m on the trail. All there is is now. Why would I want that feeling to end?

My brain seems to work differently — better, I hope — when I return from  a hike. The relentless, 24/7 clank and clatter of the ‘real world’ is easier to ignore, and I think more clearly. It’s like turning a radio dial until all the static disappears from the speakers — hiking helps me stay tuned in to my own thoughts.

Part of that can be attributed to being in the woods. I’m learning, however, that being separated from technology is having its own effect. There’s no updating my Facebook status in the forest, and I can’t adjust my fantasy football roster. My cell phone doesn’t work. The blogs I follow go unread. My work e-mail goes unchecked.

And somehow, the world goes on.

I was thinking about this subject recently (thinking clearly, I might add, since I recently returned from climbing Cannon), when I stumbled upon this piece by the author John Freeman. A few excerpts:

The boundlessness of the Internet always runs into the hard fact of our animal nature, our physical limits, the dimensions of our cognitive present, the overheated capac­ity of our minds. “My friend has just had his PC wired for broadband,” writes the poet Don Paterson. “I meet him in the café; he looks terrible—his face puffy and pale, his eyes bloodshot. . . . He tells me he is now detained, night and day, in downloading every album he ever owned, lost, desired, or was casually intrigued by; he has now stopped even listen­ing to them, and spends his time sleeplessly monitoring a progress bar. . . . He says it’s like all my birthdays have come at once, by which I can see he means, precisely, that he feels he is going to die.”

and

The ultimate form of progress, however, is learning to decide what is working and what is not; and working at this pace, emailing at this frantic rate, is pleasing very few of us. It is encroaching on parts of our lives that should be separate or sacred, altering our minds and our ability to know our world, encouraging a further distancing from our bodies and our natures and our communities. We can change this; we have to change it. Of course email is good for many things; that has never been in dispute. But we need to learn to use it far more sparingly, with far less dependency, if we are to gain control of our lives.

I couldn’t agree more. Then again, I love the way technology gives you instant access to everything. I love my new Blackberry. Facebook has reconnected me on a casual basis to friends I haven’t seen in years and has kept me in touch with close friends who have moved to other parts of the country. Twitter, for all the jokes about its inanity, is a great way to share information quickly and concisely with a targeted group of people. I can read newspapers from across the nation and across the world every morning. I can watch Rocky and Bullwinkle for free on hulu.com. And this site is just damn funny.

But, as Freeman notes:

This is not a sustainable way to live. This lifestyle of being constantly on causes emotional and physical burnout, work­place meltdowns, and unhappiness. How many of our most joyful memories have been created in front of a screen?

Freeman calls for a movement toward “slow communication,” a “push back against the machines and the forces that encourage us to remain connected to them.” While I’m not ready to go all Sarah Connor on my laptop, he does have a point. Of course, he was making that point in a piece I found on the Internet.

For now, I’ll continue to keep a foot in both worlds, as they both have something to offer:

Technology gives me around-the-clock access to other people’s thoughts. Hiking gives me access to my own.

“Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades; shoe makers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers a monster watch, and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but up in the Mountains of New Hampshire, God Almighty has hung out a sign to show that there He makes men.”
– Daniel Webster, American statesman and New Hampshire native, on Cannon’s Old Man of the Mountain

“Yes, I would like fries with that.”
– Fat Man of the Mountains, on Cannon’s summit Saturday

Last week’s climb of Mt. Garfield was all about remoteness. You have to drive a ways down a dirt road to get to the trailhead before walking five miles to the summit in the middle of the Pemegewasset Wilderness. Even if there are other people on the summit, the overwhelming feeling is one of quiet and solitude.

Then there’s Cannon.

To call this 4,100-footer schizophrenic would be an understatement. The Kinsman Ridge Trail to the summit is steep; it’s also as rough as anything I’ve experienced so far this summer. It’s a maddening mix of loose dirt, wet slabs, exposed roots and maliciously placed rocks. (It’s also the most fun I’ve had climbing all year, despite the frequent falls and lingering, Frisbee-sized bruise on my back.)

But Cannon’s signature feature isn’t the rough trail. It’s the Cannon Aerial Tramway, which starts at a parking lot at the base of the mountain and whisks tourists –  as many as 80 at a time — to the top in under 10 minutes. Where Garfield is majestic and quiet, Cannon is loud and brassy. The whir of the tram is a constant companion on the hike up the mountain — every few minutes you know someone is taking the easy way to the top while you are sweating your way skyward. You never out-climb the roar of Harleys on the Franconia Parkway, and at several points you can look back to a view of parking lots. The upper levels of the trail just under the summit are littered with cigarette butts.

And when you get to the top, you find yourself in an elbow fight with tourists for a view from the summit tower.

Then why was Cannon one of my favorite hikes of the year, you ask?

The snack bar, of course.

After climbing through the heat and humidity Saturday, the boy and I were able to relax in air-conditioned comfort at the top. We usually cram down a power bar or PB&J on our summits. Saturday we chowed down on grilled hot dogs, french fries, chips, pickles and soda before finishing up with a few chocolate chip cookies. That’s my kind of hiking meal. (I’ve often wished the hot dog vendors from Fenway Park had door-to-door service, so you can imagine how happy I was.) I took a pass on the Starbucks coffee — it’s true, those guys are everywhere. Unfortunately the bar — yes, there was one — wasn’t open. That would have make the hike down even more interesting.

I also learned, in between annoyed looks from Tram passengers, that the hot-air hand dryers in the bathroom are good for drying out sweaty hiking hats.

Even with all that food and comfort, there’s something sad and faded about the top of Cannon. The peak used to be the home of the Old Man of the Mountains; those days ended with the crumbling of the Great Stone Face in 2003. The mountain itself doesn’t compare to neighboring peaks like Lafayette and Lincoln. And then there are all those cigarette butts, candy wrappers and casually discarded Kleenex; it feels like a city park, not the top of a 4,000-footer.

But that’s OK by me. I had a blast with the boy, who was making his return to the hills after a month away. We laughed more in an afternoon than we have in weeks. We took in some great views from the cliffs two-thirds of the way up the mountain. And we ate junk food.

One of the great things about these mountains is that each one has its own character and offers its own experience. No two hikes are the same. And that’s the way it should be.

Although if every summit had a hot dog vendor that would be cool, too.

The boy taking in the views from the summit tower.

Ahh, crowds. We love crowds.

Cheaters.

Best hiking lunch ever.

The cliffs offered great views and no crowds.

Looking down the 'trail.'

Fat Man in profile.

My friend David flew in from Alabama last week for the sole purpose of joining me on a hike up one of the 4,000-footers. So you’d figure it would have rained all weekend, right?

Nope. It was one of the nicest weekends in the mountains. Sunny, low humidity, little mud, no bugs.  We stayed overnight at the Joe Dodge Lodge, had a great breakfast, threaded through the crowds readying to head up Tuckerman’s, and drove 40 minutes around Mt. Washington to 4,500-foot Mt. Garfield.

While Pinkham Notch was as crowded as the Hampton tolls on a Sunday, afternoon, the Garfield Trail was relatively quiet, even on a beautiful Saturday in August. David, who’s used to running in the humid south, was patient with my huffing and puffing. And the views from the top were everything I’ve heard about.

At the breezy summit.

The Franconia Ridge

Owl's Head and the Bonds...

Looking toward Vermont (I think).

The day ended the way I think all hiking days should, with beer and a massive steak (at the Red Parka Pub in Bartlett). The only downside — a worsening case of Achilles tendonitis. More on that later…

With the exception of Osceola, most of my hikes this so far this summer have brought limited views, at best.  It rained for Tecumseh, Moosilauke, and Tom, and Field and Willey offer a somewhat myopic view of nearby mountains. Even Osceola, with its great look back to the Tripyramids and beyond, doesn’t give you the feeling of being on top of the word.

So after starting my week off Sunday with a muggy, sweaty trip to the top of viewless Hale (more on that later), I had to have views, and lots of them.

Luckily, the weather cooperated Tuesday for one of the most enjoyable and rewarding treks of the past few years, a traverse of three of the southern Presidentials, Mts. Eisenhower, Pierce and Jackson.

I’m using my folks’ house as base camp this week, and my father was willing to drop me at the trailhead for the Edmands Path, saving me a 2.5-mile roadwalk back to my car at the end of the day. And my mom packed me a lunch (Yes, I’m 42 and my mommy still packs me a lunch. Deal with it.). I hit the trailhead rested and ready around 8:30 a.m.

The Edmands Path up 4,780-foot Mt. Eisenhower is a thing of beauty. It’s gently graded, meticulously laid out and packed with great views. All that’s missing is an escalator.

Looking back @ two-thirds of the way up Eisenhower.

I love these signs. I feel like a tough guy when I walk past them.

It took me longer to reach the summit than I anticipated — I was stopping every few minutes to take out my camera. A little after 11, I topped the summit cone. The views defy description. The closest I can come is to say the feeling was like a shot of adrenalin to the heart.

Looking back at Mt. Washington from the summit of Eisenhower.

Another view, with Mts. Monroe and Franklin in the foreground.

Fat Man on the mountain.

Looking toward the next objective, Mt. Pierce.

After a brief rest and some restorative beef jerky, it was on to Mt. Pierce and the highlight of the day, the 1.6 miles or so spent on the Crawford Path between the two mountains. The Crawford Path, the oldest continuously maintained footpath in the United States, rolls gently along the ridge, never steep and never more than a few yards from stunning vistas.

Following an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker down the Crawford Path.

Tuesday, I was so preoccupied with the views that I was on top of 4,310-foot Mt. Pierce almost before I realized it.

Looking back at Eisenhower from Mt. Pierce.

The summit marking for Pierce, christened with a few drops of my sweat.

On Pierce.

From Pierce it was a short jaunt down to the Mispah Hut, where I had some more jerky (which seems to be my secret weapon for avoiding cramps), rehydrated and refilled my four Nagalenes with water and Gatorade. It was a hot, sunny day Tuesday and I was thankful for the chance to replace the fluids. It would have been  much different hike otherwise.

A quiet Mispah, just before a group of 27 -- yes, 27 -- hikers showed up.

From Mispah, it was on to the 4,052-foot Mt. Jackson. The Webster Cliff trail is gentle here, at one point traversing a seemingly bottomless mud bog (I tested it, pushing my hiking poles down into the mud, reaching the handle without hitting bottom).

The shortest of the day’s 4,000 footers still had plenty to offer, including a winged visitor (actually, I was the visitor).

This guy spent most of his time posing for the crowd at the top.

Looking in to Crawford Notch from the summit of Jackson.

From there, it was about 2.4 miles back down to the road and another half mile or so to my car, making for 10+ miles and 3,300 feet or so of elevation. It felt good to get a decent-sized hike under my belt, especially in the heat. And in contrast, here’s the best photo from Sunday’s rainy day slog up 4,054-foot Mt. Hale:

Exciting rocks.

There’s still plenty of week left, and I hope to make it out another one or two times, depending on the weather. Stay tuned.

It was back to Crawford Notch Sunday to settle some unfinished business. Luke and I attempted a Willey Range traverse (Mts. Tom, Field and Willey) on July 4 but cut things short after running into a thunderstorm on top of Tom.

Luke stayed home, having summited Field (his first 4,000-footer) last summer. I set out alone from Crawford Station early in the morning, hoping to bag Field and Willey. For once, things went as planned.

Looking down at the Mt. Washington Resort from the summit of the 4,340-foot Mt. Field. Not sure why the shot is so washed out.

Looking back at Mt. Tom.

Making a new friend on Mt. Field. The grey jays aren't shy, especially if you have a fist full of trail mix. This photo made Luke insanely jealous.

See ya.

After a 2.8-mile climb to the top of Field, it's another 1.4 down-and-up miles to Willey.

The dramatic, breathtaking summit of Willey (4,285 feet). They should put it on postcards. Seriously, it's less exciting than it looks in the photo.

There are, however, some nice views from an outlook a short distace away. Thanks to the nice hikers from Hanover, N.H., for offering to shoot the photo. After sharing notes on trails up Moosilauke, we headed in different directions. They were headed straight down Willey. I had what for me was the toughest part of my hike -- down Willey then back up Field before returning to Crawford Notch. That last climb up Field is tiring and feels a little beside the point -- I mean, I already summited, right?

Tough guy stops whining about the second ascent of Field long enough to snap a self-portrait at the top. From there, it's all downhill to the car (and the AMC's coin-operated shower at Crawford Depot, for which the inside of my car is eternally grateful).

The stats

Distance: 8.4 miles

Vertical gain: 3,100 feet.

Time on trail: @ 6 hours, 50 minutes, including rest stops and lunch with the grey jays.

Road trip music for the ride home: The Replacements, Don’t Tell a Soul; Bob Mould, Body of Song; Cross Canadian Ragweed, Purple; The Hoodoo Gurus, Crank; Drive By Truckers, The Dirty South.

It was a long drive back to Cape Ann through summer Sunday traffic, but it felt good to bag multiple peaks for a change.