Visiting Kin

"If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep walking." - Buddhist Proverb

March 27, 2010. It had been two weeks since my young friend Mark had climbed his first White Mountain in New Hampshire. Now we were back again. This time we had a 10 mile hike planned that would take us over two more 4,000 footers, North Kinsman and South Kinsman. I had planned the hike to be at least 10 miles for a reason. Mark is a Boy Scout and he is working on his hiking badge. This entails doing several 10 and 20 mile hikes, most of which he has done with the troop and his mom, an excellent hiker in her own right. She and I had discussed presenting a 10 mile hike to Mark's hiking badge leader Dwight, and he had agreed to allowing a mountain hike with me to count towards Mark's badge. It certainly was going to be a more difficult 10 miler than anything the Boy Scout Troop did in Connecticut, as Mark and I would feel thoroughly beaten up when the day ended. But I mean that in a good way.

Mark and Nuttah MD at trailhead sign in Franconia Notch

The day was cold but clear and the wind was light. It was going to be a gorgeous day. We would be hiking from Lafayette Place Camp Ground up to Lonesome Lake, and then on to Kinsman Ridge and the two peaks that dominated the ridge, North and South Kinsman. Franconia Notch is formed by Kinsman Ridge on the west and Franconia Ridge on the east, and is split by Route 93 going north and south. It is one of the most scenic and heavily visited areas of the White Mountains.

The trail to Lonesome Lake.

Mark and I geared up in the parking lot and soon were on our way. The trail leading up to Lonesome Lake was fairly easy and the lower part was mostly snow free. Still we carried microspikes, crampons, and snowshoes. The traction would come in very handy further on. Lonesome Lake sits high above the floor of the notch and the Appalachian Mountain Club has one of their huts there. It is one of the most scenic spots for a hut and one of the most accessible, so it gets many visitors during the year. We had planned to stay there ourselves but no space was available, more on that later.

Trail and warning sign at Lonesome Lake. Footprints across the frozen lake showed someone had ignored the warning

We soon reached Lonesome Lake and started to circle it westwards. The lake is girdled with a trail that has several outlets heading up or down. This is a popular way to climb either the Kinsmans or to climb Cannon Mountain, known for its ski area and as the former location of the Old Man of the Mountain. The Old Man had always been the very symbol of the Granite State until it plummeted into the notch on May 3, 2003. The loss of this icon still haunts those of us who have gazed on it and believed it would long outlive our children and their children's children. It just goes to show that you are never promised tomorrow and that all things must pass.

Outlet stream at south end of Lonesome Lake

The Kinsmans and Kinsmans Ridge loom over Lonesome Lake

 
This trail around the lake would take us to the hut and to the trail we would be taking up to the ridge, Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This trail with the easy name would prove to be less than easy on the body with a very steep and challenging section as it approached the ridge. But for now we stopped at the hut and took a break before the push upwards.

Mark takes a break at Lonesome Lake Hut.

Mark and a frozen Lonesome Lake. Franconia Ridge lies across the notch

When we had finished taking a breather, we slung packs and headed out on Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This trail would turn out be quite a slog with many undulations followed by a steep and very icy pitch up to Kinsman Ridge. I had my crampons on and Mark was using my microspikes. Without these traction tools we would never have made it safely to the top. Mark is a solid hiker but by the time we had finished Fishin' Jimmy Trail he had developed something of an animosity towards it and I couldn't blame him. Steeper than a staircase and treacherously icy, the trail had taken a toll on us when we finally reached the Junction with Kinsman Ridge Trail. Kinsman Ridge Trail runs the length of the ridge but we would only be taking it far as South Kinsman summit and then back again. But before we did that, it was time for lunch. Fishin' Jimmy Trail had taken a couple of hard hours to cover so we headed off on a little detour to Kinsman Pond and shelter. Kinsman Pond lies below North Kinsman and would be a lovely place to stop for lunch.

An early section of Fishin' Jimmy Trail. This benign section gives little warning to the steep and icy sections ahead.

At Kinsman Pond. North Kinsman rises in the background.

Mark prepares lunch at Kinsman Pond

  Kinsman Pond shelter is an AMC open cabin. There are many such shelters in the White Mountains. Some are available by reservation in season, such as the AMC huts, and some are by first come first serve availability. The Kinsman Pond shelter has recently been rebuilt and we found some backpacks inside which indicated there were already a few hikers that had dumped gear here and headed out for the day.

Kinsman Pond Shelter

After a simple lunch of pepperoni sandwiches and trail mix, we headed back to the juncture with Kinsman Ridge Trail. The snow was now about 3 to 4 feet deep on the trail and the sign and any visible tree blazes were all just a little above the snow cover.

Kinsman Ridge Trail Junction sign.

Glad to be done with the outward journey on Fishin' Jimmy Trail we headed up Kinsman Ridge Trail. Earlier, when we had reached Kinsman Pond, Mark had assumed we were nearly at the top of the ridge. When North Kinsman came into view over the pond he asked, with clear concern in his voice, if we had to go up on "that." I told him that we would be climbing to the highest point on Kinsman Ridge, so anything above us now had to be climbed. He wasn't too pleased to hear it and when we started on the climb up Kinsman Ridge Trail he started to occasionally grumble about "this stupid trail." Mark is 14 and a remarkable hiker for his age, but many hikes in the Whites can seem like climbing uneven stairs for hours with the weight of a pack on your back. Mark wasn't the first, nor will he be the last, hiker to grumble a bit! After what seemed a long time, but wasn't, we reached the summit of North Kinsman at 4,293 feet and saw the glory of Franconia Ridge to the east.

Mark and I on North Kinsman

Franconia Ridge from North Kinsman. Mt Lafayette is left of center and Mt. Lincoln is right of center. The white gash in the foreground is Lonesome Lake. Rte 93 lies very far below in the notch.

Cannon Mountain at left as seen from North Kinsman. Mt Lafayette is the white peak on the right.

When we had reached the summit of North Kinsman I was tired. But I'm part Irish and very stubborn and had every desire to continue on to South Kinsman before turning back. I was a little concerned for Mark however and I decided to give him an "out". So I asked him if he wanted to skip South Kinsman this time and head back. He told me no he wanted to go on as planned. I then asked again and said I was tired myself and didn't mind turning back at all to give him another chance to save face as it were. He responded in his classic monotone, "Frankly Mr Pro, I don't believe that. We are finishing the hike." I had to laugh but once again the young man had impressed me and made me proud of him. It would not be the last time. So on we went to South Kinsman. The weather was gorgeous so we took advantage and dumped some of our gear along side the trail to lighten our load. I kept some emergency gear with me for safety and because Mark's mom had once again invoked the need for me to bring Mark and all his body parts back safely. We were soon on the summit of South Kinsman at 4,358 feet.

On South Kinsman

North Kinsman seen from South Kinsman

Looking southeast. The white scar is Mt. Flume

Mt Moosilauke as seen from South Kinsman. Mark's mom and I had climbed that peak the year before. I had to point out to Mark that his mom had been higher in the Whites than he had to that point. Never miss an opportunity to mess with a kid's head!

The white lines at center are the ski trails of Loon Mountain in Lincoln NH. The peaks in the distance are the Osceolas and the Tripyramids.

We had bagged two more 4,000 footers and it was time to head back. We would be retracing our step. Both of us were tired but it always gives you a boost when you know you are heading back. We re-crossed North Kinsman and grabbed our gear then headed down to the junction with Fishin' Jimmy Trail. Mark took advantage of his nylon snow pants and slid down on his butt whenever he could. Fishin' Jimmy was no fun going in the easy direction either and many injuries occur when heading downhill, so it was a real pleasure to finally reach Lonesome Lake hut once again. When we reached the hut we could clearly hear some of the people partying inside who were to stay that evening. It's unusual for the hut to be full in March and I wondered why it was today.

The entry to the main cabin at Lonesome Lake Hut

The front of the Lonesome Lake Hut. This porch has a spectacular view of Lonesome Lake and Franconia Ridge.

We took another rest and food break at the lake before heading down. When we were outward bound from the lake we started to run into hikers headed for the cabin and they told us why the cabin was full that night. It seems a bunch of friends reserve the cabin each March for a formal "Thanksgiving" meal and dance! The men carry full suits in their packs and the women bring dresses and high heels! On top of that, they each also hike up some part of the meal in their pack. One guy had 12 roasted turkeys in his pack and one girl had a full birthday cake and bottles of wine! It makes you feel good about people when you hear things like that. The revelers we ran into seemed a bit impressed with Mark when they realized the hike he had just done and very graciously invited us to turn around and join them at the party in the hut. Unfortunately we had a long drive home still to do and we were a bit under-dressed for the occasion anyway (I hadn't brought my heels) so we had to decline. We would be stopping at the Woodstock Inn for dinner and microbrew on the drive south so there was that consolation.

Dinner at Woodstock Inn and Station before the long ride home.

We reached the trailhead tired but happy. We both had two new 4,000 footers under our belts. The sun had set and the moon was over Franconia Ridge. Mark also had another 10 mile hike done towards his hiking badge. It was a real pleasure to dine at the Woodstock Inn that night. It was a real pleasure just to sit actually, and to drink a well earned Pemi Pale Ale. It had been another great day in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I have had many of those in my time and hope to have many more. And I hope Mark does as well.

Piercing Wind

“What a child doesn't receive he can seldom later give.” - P.D. James

Nuttah MD is ready to hike!

Mark’s eyes were big as he took in the dramatic views as we drove through Crawford Notch in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. It was March 13, 2010. This was the first time he had seen the Whites, and I was gratified to see he was impressed. This was to be the first time Mark would hike in the Whites and the first time he would climb a mountain. He would also be doing his first mountain hike during winter. He’s a brave kid but it was probably more likely a blind trust in me that made him so willing to take on winter in the Whites, after all, unprepared hikers have perished doing so. I must admit I was nervous on how this 14 year-old young man would do on the snowy slopes and I was very anxious about whether he would enjoy it or not. I very much hoped that it would be an experience he would want to repeat, and not just with me. I was hoping it might become part of his world, and that it would be something he would do with his friends later in his life, maybe even with his own children someday. I once heard someone say how important it is to leave footprints in a child’s life, and I felt very fortunate to have the chance to leave some in Mark’s life. Of course it wasn’t just doing something for Mark that brought us here together, it was also doing something with Mark. I rather enjoy his company you see.

Mark at trailhead. That sign is actually 5 feet high.

The weather today was typical of winter in the Whites, cold, gray, and windy. Windy to the tune of hurricane force gusts on the summits. Today we would be ascending Mt. Pierce and hopefully Mt. Eisenhower. The temperature on the summits would be in the low twentys to the high teens, not so bad in itself but the wind would make things a tad more uncomfortable. As we climbed out of the car at the trailhead parking lot the wind combined with the gray skies to create a very forlorn atmosphere. Mentally shaking off that false impression of gloom, I popped the trunk open and we started to gear up for the hike.

Traction: Crampons top; Microspikes bottom

If you are going to go up into the White Mountains in winter you need to know what you are doing, or bad things can happen. I had promised his mom that I would bring him and all his body parts back safely and I was going to make sure that happened. Our gear included snowshoes, crampons, microspikes, trekking poles, emergency gear, maps and compass, food and water, and extra clothing. We wore a mixture of high-tech garb designed for proper winter protection. In the world of winter outdoor survival there is an old saying, “Cotton kills.” Cotton gets soaking wet easily by sweat and doesn’t dry quickly so it loses its insulating capacity and quickly saps the heat from the wearer. So no cotton for us.

We were soon ready to head out along the Crawford Path that would takes us over Mt. Pierce and Mt. Eisenhower. Shouldering our daypacks we started up and the snow beneath our boots crunched sharply in the cold air. One advantage to hiking these trails in winter is that the deep snow, 3 to 5 feet in this case, covers rocks and uneven features along the trail and makes what I call a “snow ramp.” As long as you are not the first to hike over fresh snow, called “breaking trail,” the packed snow ramp makes the trail easier going. Inevitably when you start out on these hikes wearing microspikes, crampons,or snowshoes on your feet, you soon have to stop and re-adjust the traction gear for snugness.

Mark adjusts gear soon after starting up

Crawford Path snowramp

As we climbed the lower slopes of the southern Presidentials, we passed through an impressive winter landscape with heavy snow adorning the fir trees, making everything look like a Christmas postcard. The air was cold but we soon heated up from exertion and we could hear the wind moaning through the tree tops but couldn’t really feel its relief since the trees blocked it from reaching us. I was constantly wondering how my young friend was doing and how he was feeling about this long climb. I have been doing this for years but this was Mark’s first time. I knew the views we would be treated to when we broke out above treeline would make it all worthwhile but Mark was yet to experience this, so I worried he was thinking this slogging uphill in the dead of winter wearing heavy gear was less than a treat. We came to a spruce that had been blown down across the trail and then buried in heavy snow. The result was in essence a short tunnel that the trail passed through. We both thought this very cool until as I was taking Mark’s picture when he passed underneath it, he banged his head on the sharp end of one of the spruce’s branches. Clenching his teeth he rubbed his head and answered he was fine to my query. Tough kid that.

Mark emerges from blowdown tunnel

Before long we came to the junction with the trail named Mizpah Cutoff. This trail leads up to the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Mizpah Spring Hut. I thought this a good place to stop and take a break. The trail sign poked comically out of the snow at ankle level since the snow pack was about four feet deep on the trail. We still had a long way to go on our hike and I told Mark of one of my old techniques for avoiding feeling the trek ahead was almost over only to find out there was still a long hard way to go still. That trick is to always tell yourself there is a long way to go, never allow yourself to feel you are almost there. That way when you do reach your destination it comes as a pleasant surprise that you are there already. This doesn’t always work however, as I’m sure you already guessed!

Mizpah Cutoff Junction Sign. Almost buried by snow depth

Finishing our break we slung packs again and headed upwards along the Crawford Path. As we walked the snow ramp upwards we talked of this and that. In taking Mark on this trip, I not only wanted to share the experience and share his company, I wanted to start to build his knowledge and experience of mountain hiking. There are few more important things you can do for someone you care about than building their confidence in themselves. Far too many times in my life I have seen how people can try to shake the confidence of the people they supposedly care about to gain greater influence over them. That is no way to treat anyone, much less someone you care about. It is my hope that in taking Mark hiking in the Whites and learning how to survive these long hard treks in a harsh environ, Mark’s confidence in himself will be strengthened and will help him face the challenges of life ahead. And as I said before, I just enjoy his company, so admittedly I’m not being totally selfless here!

We reach Treeline

Treeline in the mountains is the elevation where the combination of wind and cold temperature result in such a brief growing season that trees can not establish a foothold. This elevation varies depending on the mountain and the weather patterns. For the mountain hiker, reaching treeline is both an achievement and a glorious gift. When you break out above treeline the world suddenly explodes into the distance. While hiking among the thick spruces the boundaries of your horizons are measured in a few feet. When you step into the open above treeline, your horizons suddenly leap out for many, many miles. So sudden is this that it hits you viscerally and some people can actually experience vertigo at the sudden experience of being very high with the world falling away from them. For me it is one of the greatest thrills in life, and I was very curious how it would strike Mark. The look on his face and the exclamation “Wow” he made was very gratifying for me, maybe he would fall in love with mountain hiking after all.

Looking west. The Bonds and the Twins dominate the horizon.

Vermont in the far distance

Where we now stood we were still sheltered from the wind by the ridge ahead of us. But a few forceful swirls were reaching us and the sound of the wind ahead was impressive. We stopped for a few photos and to put more clothing on in anticipation of cresting the ridge and facing the wind’s fury. Now prepared, we continued onward. When we did crest the ridge the wind was blowing a steady 30 mph and gusting to easily 50 mph or more. It would get worse when we approached the summit. The ridge we were on still had some scrub on it and the snow had made the trail difficult to discern. There were many tracks wandering about but we could see Mt Pierce’s summit looming ahead so we headed in its general direction and made our own path. As we hiked along we descended briefly into a fold in the mountains side and were once again sheltered from the wind. It was the home stretch now for Mt Pierce’s summit.

Pierce summit comes into view with a snow clad Washington behind

We found a track broken out by other hikers before us and we silently thanked them for making our way easier. Following this track we soon climbed to the big broad summit of Pierce. It was here we really felt just how strong the winds were. A steady 50 mph was frequently ratcheted up to gusts exceeding 70 mph. Often we were buffeted and knocked sideways, stumbling several feet in an unexpected direction before regaining control. Well, Mark was getting a proper introduction to winter in the Whites, that was certain. Mount Washington loomed to the east, dazzlingly white and majestic, to the northeast the rest of the Presidentials were strung out ahead of us. Westward we could see well into Vermont and to our west as well stood Franconia Ridge with Mt. Lafayette standing proud. Eisenhower stood before and above us about a mile and a half away but I knew we would not be visiting that summit today. The winds would certainly be even worse there. Earlier we had run into other hikers who had tried getting to Eisenhower’s summit. They told us they had been forced to crawl on hands and knees because of the ferocious winds and had turned back short of the top. I might have tried it on my own but it would have been irresponsible to take Mark into that level of risk, and of course I had promised Mark’s mom Mary that I would bring him (and all of his body parts, she was very specific about that) home safely. Lenticular clouds were also starting to form above the peaks and foul weather seemed in the offing, so Eisenhower would have to wait for another day.

Mark leans into hurricane force gusts just below Pierce's summit

Mt. Washington and the southern Presidentials seen from summit of Pierce

Mark summits his first 4,000 ft White Mountain, Mt Pierce summit

After taking a few pictures we headed back along Crawford Path, or at least somewhere in its general vicinity since the snow had obliterated any obvious signs of the trail. Mark had his first 4,000 footer under his belt but I wanted to show him more of the Whites. When we had descended all the way back to the junction with Mizpah Cutoff we stopped for lunch. I proposed to Mark that we head up Mizpah Cutoff and visit the Mizpah Spring hut on the flank of Pierce. It was closed for winter but he had not yet seen one of these wonderful mountain cabins. So we would have lunch here then head on up. I have always taken very simple food when I hike. Trail mix, energy bars, fruit, chocolate, etc. Simple high calorie stuff, and today was no exception. Certainly I brought nothing even resembling prepared food. This was not Mark’s expectation of lunch however. When I pulled the bag of trail mix and granola bars out of my pack he looked ruefully at the contents and dryly remarked, “So no lunch, huh?” That is when it hit me that any future hikes with the lad would have to have a better menu.

Mark wasn't thrilled by my lunch menu but a Gray Jay seems well satisfied

After what was a disappointing lunch for Mark, though he did get to feed a Gray Jay some nuts, we headed up Mizpah Cutoff. At first we had a clear track to follow but soon it became evident that the many previous hikers had been wandering about trying to find the trail. So, there was no trail to follow and the snow was covered with a myriad of confused tracks leading in all directions. We went along in the general direction of the hut, but after much wandering about among thick spruces, we had not found it and the daylight would soon be failing. It was time to head back down, but I had to go slowly trying to stay on course. At one point I had to resort to getting on my hands and knees to closely study the snow for my previous crampon marks so we could exit the way we had come up. I was a little anxious about getting too sidetracked and having to hike out in the dark, not something I fear doing but it does make injury more likely. We eventually found our way back to the Crawford Path and headed down the well trodden snow ramp on “cruise control.”

Bushwacking on the search for Mizpah Hut

Lenticular clouds form over the mountains

It had been a day of firsts for Mark and it had been a good day all the way around. Mark had enjoyed the hike and felt the accomplishment as I had hoped. I had truly enjoyed doing this for him and with him. It looked very much like he would want to do this again, which made me feel very happy indeed. He had done very well and had out-hiked many adults I have hiked with before. I was impressed with him I was definitely proud of him. It was getting late and the light was fading fast as we neared the trail’s end. Before the long drive home, we would be dining at Moat Mountain Brewery in North Conway, as I had done with his mom the year before. Warmth, a comfortable chair, and good food awaited both of us, not to mention the excellent ale that awaited me. Mark will have to wait a few years before celebrating a White Mountain hike with Iron Mike’s Pale Ale, but I don't think that bothers him right now. It had been a good trip, and I would be bringing Mark and all his body parts home safely as promised, with a bunch of good memories to boot.

In Our Nature

Who do we become
Without knowing where
We started from

From "Silent House" by the Dixie Chicks

 

Fractures and splinters in the bones of the earth

A hollow sound reverberated and a slight shudder ran up my leg as my boot struck the frost riddled ground. This was my third hike at Westwoodsin Guilford, Connecticut and I had just started down the Orange Trail. The feeling in my leg and the hollow thud both filled me with a feeling of belonging and connectedness. This feeling is an old friend of mine, I have had it as long as I can remember. As I walked through the forest and breathed in the cool January air, I reflected on what it means to me to immerse myself in nature. I am not a religious person, yet every hike, every time I kayak, every mountain I climb, every wildlife encounter, is spiritual for me. This essay is about our own nature, and how we embrace it to our great joy, or spurn it to the diminishing of our being.

 

  Me climbing Mt. Washington in 1982

As long as can remember I have sought the out-of-doors. It was, and still is, my refuge from life's slings and arrows, as well as simply being the best place to be. I vividly remember lying on a grassy hillside, when I was 12 or 13 years old, on a cool March day and nestling down where the chilling breeze couldn't reach me but the sun's warm rays could gently bake me. The feeling of well being this wonderful experience created in me is still fresh in my memory these many years later. It is that feeling of well being that I still seek in the woods today. Nowadays I tend to spend a little less time lying in the sun and more time hiking vigorously along trails. Time is bit more precious to me now and I love the feeling of blood coursing through me and the thump-th-thump of my heart pumping hard. As I walk along I love to run my hands across the bark of trees or the lichen painted surface of stone. It is as sensual to me as the feel of a lover's face, and indeed it has been a lifelong love affair for me. The aromas of the forests also fill me with a feeling of being at home and at peace. The smell of damp earth never fails to awaken a very primitive feeling of serenity in me. Sometimes I just have to stop and breathe in the rich smells that hang in the sylvan air.  

 

Spicebush Swallowtail on Turks-cap Lilly

All things of natural beauty are captivating and exciting for me. I do appreciate those works of man that have a certain inherent beauty, such as a beautifully designed bridge. But the bridge will never be as beautiful to me as the gorge it spans. Last summer I was hunting dragonflies to photograph in Pachaug State Forest in Voluntown, Connecticut when I came across a Spicebush Swallowtail butterfly taking nectar from a Turk's-cap Lilly. The perfect beauty of the image stopped me in my tracks. It is little discoveries such as this that fill me with wonder and awe at what has come to be on this planet or ours. 

 

Chimney Pond with the famous "Knife Edge" behind. Baxter State Park, Maine.

As I grew to an adult, I started to travel to see the wonders that lay out there beyond my home state of Connecticut. I discovered the lure of hiking in the mountains when I was in my twenties. What I did not expect to find was the friendliness of those kindred souls on the montane trails. It seemed to me that nearly every person you encountered broke out a hearty smile when they passed you. There was something about hiking in the mountains that made these people happy to encounter other hikers and more than willing to take time to meet other hikers. You will very rarely find people smiling at you as they pass you in a supermarket as I'm sure you are aware, and try and stop to introduce yourself to someone in the produce aisle. Odds are you will be met with a a wary eye! Yet this shared experience of being on a mountain side made people more friendly, more optimistic, happier somehow. This despite the obvious physical demands that such hiking requires and the fatigue it creates. This is simply because hiking is healthy for body and mind. The benefit we reap from spending time in the natural world can not be denied.

The "Knife Edge" Trail

So what is it that makes people feel better when they are outdoors? I believe it is being true to our nature. When we are outdoors we are where we came from, where we started from. We are all creatures of this planet, just as are the birds, the insects, and all the fascinating creatures that share this world with us. However it seems to me that somehow we are losing our way. We as a species seem to think we are above nature, that we have mastered it and are somehow disconnected from it. This is surely dangerous folly if you ask me. Without our natural world, we are little more than passengers on a vessel that can only support us for a very finite time. We seem to have forgotten where we started from. This is a failing with dire consequences for us. But all hope is not yet lost. I have always said that you never fail until you stop trying. I have tried to set an example of respect for our world for my children to see. Our children become us, so we should live our lives as we hope our children will live theirs. It does not matter what you say to children, it matters what they see you do. Remember they are always watching and see far more than we like to think they see.

 

My son Ian, daughter Karly, and me on Mt. Willard, New Hampshire. 1990

 

In spending much of my life outside, I eventually fell under the spell of birds. Birds have long intrigued human beings. Their ability to fly was pure magic to us and filled us with wonder. Surely these were creatures in some way favored by the gods. To have such a freedom bestowed upon them! For me, birds are the perfect embodiment of natural beauty. Their songs fill our world with the sweetest and sometimes unearthly music. The exquisite sound of a Wood Thrush singing can not be described. I am arrested in my tracks by the first Wood Thrush song each spring as surely as if a mythological siren had enchanted me. Yet the color of the Wood Thrush is a subtle reddish brown, to blend with the forest it haunts. I have never been greatly impressed with "enhanced" beauty and I am much more attracted to a women who uses very little make-up than to one that treats her face as an art project! Some of the most beautiful things, or women, that I have ever seen are subtle in their "plumage."

 

The subtle beauty of a Wilson's Snipe...

  

and the subtle beauty of a Hackberry Emperor...

Yet this does not mean I am immune to the allure of fancy dress! It can not be denied that species like Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, Roseate Spoonbills, and Atlantic Puffins are truly impressive beauties in all their gaudy splendor. Of course they were hatched with it, it wasn't applied with a brush or a pad.

Atlantic Puffin with food for its chicks

 We enrich and recharge our spirits when we immerse ourselves in the beauty of our world. There are wonders to be seen every day and on every scale. From the delicate beauty of a butterfly to the massive form of a bull moose. All of these things can fill us with a joy and contentment that can not be had from staying inside and watching television or playing video games. John Muir called Yosemite Valley a cathedral. He was right. We humans can not improve on what has been wrought in the crucible of time. Still, more and more people are failing to go outdoors these days. As the song says, "Who do we become, Without knowing where, We started from?"

 

The delicate beauty of a Luna Moth...

 

and the powerful beauty of a Bull Moose.

Where our society goes as it strays further and further form its origins is of concern to me. I do believe that respecting nature, experiencing nature, sharing the natural world, makes us better and more civil individuals. I do not understand why there is so much negativity in our culture these days. I do not watch reality television, or at least very little. I can not stand to watch people screaming at one another and viciously denigrating each other. How is that healthy? How is that good for kids to see? Why our we abrogating the responsibility of role modeling to television? Years ago I was paddling my canoe across Jordan Pond in Acadia National Park in Maine. The pond was crystal clear and you could see stones on the bottom 40 feet down like they were two feet away. As I marveled at the purity of the water, a Common Loon swam by underneath me. The bird was at least twenty feet down and the sight was fabulous. I truly felt a thrill and I can not tell you how marvelous that experience was for me, a life gift indeed. I have never felt that way watching television or sitting at my desk at work, I can tell you.

 Jordan Pond, Acadia National Park, Maine

 

 

Rainbow on the coast of Maine

Life has had many up and downs for me. Through all the triumphs and defeats, my love of nature has remained constant. My feeling of connectedness and belonging has only grown stronger. That feeling of my hiking boot striking frost heaved ground on that Westwoods trail said "welcome home Dave" to me. It made me smile, it eased some pain. We never know where our lives will take us, but we must never let life allow us to forget where we started from. And we must never allow ourselves to disrespect the world we depend upon and that holds such indescribable and irreplaceable marvels. I'm not as young as I used to be, my mind often tells me to do things that my body can't deliver on any more, despite being a pretty darn fit guy for a 51 year old. Happily my love of the natural world, and my connectedness to it, remains hale and healthy. As I have said before, life should be a shared experience. And it should be spent outdoors.

On Wordens Pond in southern Rhode Island, 2009. Thank you Mary.

 

Sunset on my 51st birthday, January 2010. Norwich, Connecticut. A nice present shared with my daughter.