Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended,
From "Reluctance" by Robert FrostThe air was humid and dank and clung to me like a jacket that was too small. My boots made dull thuds on the damp, fecund soil of the trail as I wended my way through the forest. I was in the woodlands that cloak the feet of Franconia Ridge in New Hampshire. It had been nearly five months since last I put boot to stone in the White Mountains. Then it had been snowshoe to snow and ice on Cannon Mountain with my young friend Mark. That frozen landscape now a memory, the woods were everywhere clad in greens and browns this early July weekend.And the air was warm, and quite humid actually. Snowflakes had been flying when Mark and I climbed Cannon, mow it was mosquitoes. I distinctly preferred the snowflakes.
|Standing Stone. Before Native Americans, before the coming of Europeans, before the birth of our country, for millennia, this boulder has stood witness in the forest on the mountain.|
|Shortly after leaving the parking area the trail crosses a brook. Whitehouse Brook and Cascade Brook are confluent here, but I do not know which appellation is in effect at this point.|
My chosen route would take me up the southernmost of the two peaks first, Mt. Flume, along the trail known as "Flume Slide Trail." The approach to the "slide" is mostly an easy walk in the woods. The problem with climbing mountains is, well, you have to climb. So anytime an approach trail is easy and relatively level for an extended stretch it means you will have to pay for that ease later with long steep sections of trail. Of course you should always be aware of the nature of the trail before you set out along it. The old saying "Ignorance is bliss" is often true, but not in the wilderness. In wilderness, ignorance is frequently dangerous.
|The trail approaching the beginning of the "slide" is an easy walk through the woods.|
So I was cruising along this sylvan way at a pretty good clip. The warmth and humidity had caused me to sweat freely, but my energy and strength usage was minimal. There seemed few people on this trail today, which was fine with me. I do enjoy meeting people along the way, but I also enjoy long periods of solitude. As I walked these low elevations many Red-eyed Vireos sang their slow repetitive songs. Few songbirds will continue to sing throughout hot summer days, but Red-eyed Vireos are one which will. As I approached the lower end of the slide the trail started to climb past mountain streams. These streams are fed by the slow shedding of melted snows from the previous winter augmented with rainwater that followed. These mountain streams are often quite cool to downright cold. At one point, after eating an early lunch, I rinsed my hands in the stream and they came away almost numbed by the icy water!
|The icy cold mountain stream caused the moist warm air above it to condense, resulting in a misty "smoke" along the surface.|
Soon after eating lunch I reached the slide's base. The "slide" is a remaining scar of a long ago landslide that ripped through the forest on the mountain's flank. There are many of these in the White Mountains, and they are often visible from many miles away as stone colored vertical slashes rent in the green forest cloak. Some now have prominent trails that run right up them. This scar on Mt Flume is one such "slide trail." I have taken many trail photos over the years and I have found it to be nearly impossible to actually capture in photos how steep some trails are or how dangerous they can sometimes be. This slide is not the most difficult by any means, but it does offer ample opportunity to fall with potential serious injury resulting. Some hikers will not climb such slides when they hike solo. I will, I'm part Irish. That makes me hard headed and stubborn. At least that is the excuse I frequently use. Maybe it would be more accurate to say "I'm stubborn and hard-headed" and leave off the "... because I'm Irish!" bit. Maybe.
|Looking back down part of the slide. It's steeper and more slippery than it looks in photos.|
|Looking up the slide. This section was a scramble. I left some of the skin on my shins on these rocks|
Along the upper end of the slide I started to hear female voices ahead of me. It wasn't long before I caught up with three pretty young ladies and their dog, Raleigh (or maybe "Rollie?" I didn't ask the spelling, so I'll go with Sir Walter - it's more romantic). The girls where concerned because Raleigh had slipped and tumbled down part of the slide a short time before. He looked fine to me when I looked him over but the girls were anxious that the event should not be repeated. Therefore they were taking their time and using a long leash on the dog and carefully picking their way upward to ensure it would not fall again. I helped them find a way around a difficult stretch and then headed on. I knew I would see them again on the ridge.
|After finally reaching the ridge line, the trail heads off toward Flume's summit.|
A hiker should always be prepared to turn back if he or she feels unable to safely finish a planned hike. As yet, I have never had to do so. However as I neared the end of the difficult and hot climb up the slide, I felt much more spent than I should have. At that point the thought of continuing the planned hike seemed daunting and I was surprised how tired I felt. This may have been the first time I have ever felt that my physical condition was so much less solid than it should been for the effort spent. It was a relief when I finally stepped onto the ridge trail and I soon recovered physically and spiritually. The thrill I always feel when about to climb above the tree line returned with vigor.
|Mt. Liberty as seen from the trail below Flume's summit. Franconia ridge runs off northward and upward from Liberty.|
|Mt. Flume's summit.|
A short pleasant hike along the ridge trail found me on Mt Flume's summit. In the White Mountains, there are 48 peaks called "4,000 footers" by Appalachian Mountain Club. Many hikers set a goal to climb all 48 at least once in their lives. Mt. Flume was my personal 40th of these. Only eight more summits to complete them all. Of course I have sumitted several of the peaks that I have climbed more than once but I have not yet summitted all of the 48. My goal is to finish this year. Then I will have to start working on round two. I have no intention of stopping.
|Mt. Liberty seen from Mt. Flume. To the left, across Franconia Notch, lies Kinsman Ridge. To the right, Franconia Ridge climbs northward.|
|Across Franconia Notch, with Rte 93 running north and south far below, Mt. Moosilauke forms the far horizon's apex. I had last climbed that beautiful mountain two years earlier with a dear friend.|
On Flume's summit I noticed an immature Common Raven was hanging around. The corvid was drinking standing water from a cavity formed by fractures in the stone. It was easy to age the bird as the plumage had brown tones (instead of the glossy black of adults) and the gape, the flesh at corner of its "mouth", was pinkish instead of the blackish color a mature bird would display. It was also easy to age due to its behavior. Adults very rarely allow such close approach by humans, nor do they show such poor landing skills as this youngster. Whenever it alighted from a short flight it looked quite new at the game, in a word, awkward. Very soon the three young ladies and Raleigh joined me on the summit.
|An immature Raven drinks water from a fracture in the stone on the summit of Flume.|
|Raleigh and his three lovely companions reach Flume's summit.|
I spent nearly a half an hour luxuriating in the beauty that lay in all directions. To the west lay Kinsman Ridge. To the North lay the rest of Franconia Ridge. To the east lay the Pemigawssett Wilderness and many more of the White Mountains. To the south lay the gap where the Kancamagus Highway runs, the Osceolas, Mt. Tecumseh, the town of Lincoln, Loon Mountain Ski Area, and more. At my feet lay the delicate beauty of Mountain Sandwort. Literally adding spice to all this was a young hiker couple who generously shared their Trader Joe's Chipotle Mango chips with me. Though admittedly the young man wasn't too happy with his ladies choice of trail food! If only I had a nice ice cold India Pale Ale or two to wash them down with...
|Mountain Sandwort. This delicate looking montane beauty is a very hardy denizen, growing wherever a little soil has collected on the mountain.|
One of the common insects hikers encounter in the New Hampshire woods is the "Hover Fly." I do not know the correct name for the species and there is likely more than one species involved as well. These little guys do not bite but they do hover over the middle of the trail and create a high frequency buzz that is reminiscent of a mosquito flying near your ear. I believe the buzz may be either to attract the opposite sex or to establish territorial rights. They also sit on branches and create this high pitched buzzing. Curious little entities.
|A "Hover Fly" along the trail.|
|The "arch cairn" on Mt. Liberty's summit.Many summits have small cairns that serve no purpose other than to express the joie de vivre of their creators. This one expresses that joy more artistically than most!|
|Cannon Mountain, with its summit tower, lies at the north end of Kinsman Ridge. Seen from Mt. Liberty's summit. The "bumps" in the ridge line running to the left of Cannon Mountain are called "The Cannon Balls".|
|Kinsman Ridge as seen from Mt. Liberty. The left peak is South Kinsman and the right peak is North Kinsman. In the distance lies Vermont.|
|Looking downslope. The transition line from deciduous trees on the lower slope to a mix of deciduous and conifer up higher is obvious.|
|Looking eastward into the Pemigewasset Wilderness. In the foreground is Owl's Head Mountain. Beyond are the Bonds, and on the horizon, Mount Washington rises towards the clouds.|
|Franconia Ridge running northward from Liberty.|
The day was beautiful and the views spectacular, so I was in no hurry to leave Liberty's summit. The girls had pushed on with the intent to camp at the AMC's Liberty Springs campsite, a little below the summit cone. Several species of butterfly were flitting about the summit area I was lounging on. A Canadian Tiger Swallowtail came and went. The Swallowtail's presence was objected to by a Mourning Cloak that constantly chased it whenever the Swallowtail ventured too close. Regrettably Black Flies were also present in the summit area and my ankles were particular targets of these little demons. I frequently counsel people to not assign human qualities to wildlife, but these little scourges often bring me to the point of momentary fury and certainly cause me to at least think foul language. I will admit on this occasion to vocalizing many words you wouldn't use if your mom was in earshot.
|Mourning Cloak (Nymphalis antiopa). This individual sits on its favorite perch, from which it repeatedly chased a Canadian Tiger Swallowtail.|
When it came time to press on, I retied my boots, scratched the bites on my ankles viciously, condemned every Black Fly and its relatives to eternal misery in Hades, shouldered my pack, and hiked on. I stopped to take one last set of photos before plunging back into the trees.
|Mt. Liberty's cone, seen from the north side.|
|A pretty new trail sign at the junction with Liberty Springs Trail, my path down to the Notch.|
|The caretaker tent at Liberty Springs Campsite.|
The rest of the hike was uneventful. I like to set a fast pace on the last downward leg of a hike. This means I pass most other hikers. I had reached the lower stretch of the trail and only had about a mile of fairly level trail left when I encountered a solitary hiker who was also headed out. I passed him and exchanged a few friendly words as I usually do with the hikers I pass. But this time the solitary hiker clearly wanted to continue a conversation rather than just have a brief "How are you doing?". So I slowed my pace and fell in beside him. We had a pleasant conversation as we covered the last mile of the day. His name was Joe and he was from Massachusetts. I certainly enjoyed his company and I enjoyed swapping stories with him. At the parking area we shook hands and headed to our respective vehicles. I stripped off my sweaty shirt and poured clean water over my head. Popping a clean dry shirt on felt wonderful! It had been a good day, "sliding" up and "springing" down. And I got to carry a dog named Raleigh. Briefly. Though I have to admit, I enjoyed it more than he did.