Snowshoe Here

"Having a wider heart and mind is more important than having a larger house" - Venerable Cheng Yen

January 12th, 2011. The snow along the roadside was a good two to three feet deep. Few people were driving this back road in East Lyme Connecticut because the season's first major snowfall was just wrapping up. The people who were driving were going slowly and trying to avoid sliding off the road. Not me. When I approached the forest road that leads into Nehantic State Forest I gunned it and pointed my truck at the snow bank. With a soft but solid thud I buried my truck in the snow. Then I reached for my snowshoes.

Buried in the snow. My truck "parked" in a snow bank.

 It is rare to have enough snow to use snowshoes in southeastern Connecticut. During most years here I have seen snowshoe tracks on snow that was so shallow that hiking boots were more than enough to keep the walker warm and dry. Evidence that someone owned snowshoes and wanted to get some use out of them even if they were unnecessary. Understandably human of course. I also own snowshoes, but mine are designed for narrow trails on mountainous terrain more than for wide open flats. I did not ever really expect to use them in Connecticut where we are now experiencing milder and milder winters. Still that was short sighted of me. Climate change is resulting in more moisture in the atmosphere, and consequently, more significant storms. So here I was, in East Lyme Connecticut, strapping on my snowshoes that I thought I would only ever use in the mountains. Over the coming week or so I would snowshoe three different times in the unusually white forests of my home state.

The entrance to the East Lyme unit of Nehantic State Forest. In summer Cerulean Warblers can be heard here. Now a cold stillness blanketed the forest.

As I adjusted my gear at the entrance, I once again was struck by the stillness that pervades a northeastern forest after a deep snowfall. Much like how the soft edges of an owl's feathers kill sound and allow the bird to silently approach its prey, snow that covers the forest floor and clings to trees and undergrowth also deadens sounds. The result is a silence and solitude that is more perceptual than real. But humans are creatures of perception, so the solitude felt very real to me, though I knew I was not far from roads and houses.

Self portrait showing snowshoe gear. Mountain trail snowshoes, trekking poles with snow baskets, gaiters. The cotton jeans are a clear indication I'm not dressed for backcountry but more for a stroll.

As I headed into the forest my snowshoes sank deeply into the soft powder. We had about 10 to 12 inches of new snow, and it was too dry and too new to really support my weight on my narrow snowshoes. That was okay with me today because I really just wanted to enjoy the forest and get a little workout to prepare for a planned 15 mile hike in the White Mountains later in the season.

The snow clad forest seemed silent and bereft of life. Silent it was but bereft it was not.

 I plodded along in the snow and each time my snowshoe came up its tail threw powder on my nether region. I soon adjusted my stride and pace to eliminate that uncomfortable occurrence. There is an old saying in mountain lore, "cotton kills." It is a reference to cotton quickly absorbing moisture and losing all insulating properties. Wool on the other hand, actually increases in insulating value when it gets damp. Maybe that's why sheep have wool instead of cotton. As I was wearing cotton jeans, I did not want to end up with a cold wet butt, so I adjusted my stride accordingly.

As I walked through the deep snow, at a blistering pace of about 1 mile per hour, I listened to the forest. It seemed nearly birdless. Many of the wintering songbirds would now be clustered around feeding stations at human residences. I did hear a few though. The call of a Red-bellied Woodpecker rang distantly. I can not help but compare the stark differences in spring and summer deciduous woodland noises against the winter. So much life can be heard in the warmth and so little in the cold. That doesn't mean life isn't there, it just means much less of it is avian.

Watching the snow for tracks I saw abundant sign of the seemingly ever present Gray Squirrel. These tracks often start and end, not surprisingly, at the base of trees. I did not see or hear a squirrel during my walk, and by that, one could be forgiven for thinking they were not here. But the myriad trails of their prints spoke in silent eloquence of their numbers. At one point I found ridges poking up out of the snow like the bulging veins on a body builder's arms. These were tunnels of a small mammal, perhaps a Short-tailed Shrew or a Masked Shrew. Shrews are voracious little predators eating their own body weight or more every day, and the Short-tailed (Blarina brevicauda Say) has the unique adaptation of a neurologically toxic saliva. Yes, that would be poison spit. Not to mention it emits ultrasonic sounds for echolocation. Good thing they're not the size of a dog, they'd make a Black Bear look like Winnie the Pooh.

Tunnels in the new snow, Short-tailed Shrew?. A little difficult to see the tunnels in this un-enhanced image.

Here, by enhancing the image's contrast, you can clearly see the meandering sub-surface movement of the foraging animal.

  The trees were plastered with the wind driven snow. Each species of tree seemed to take on the snow in accordance with the texture of its bark. Birches and Beeches grabbed the snow in solid blankets while Ashes and stately Tulip Trees only held the snow in the deep grooves between their ridges. Even fallen logs were heavily blanketed in the new snow. Very soon this snow would fall or be blown off, indeed as I walked I was occasionally showered by mini avalanches as this process was already underway.

The bark of the Tulip Tree (Liriodendron tulipifera), or Yellow Polar, held the snow in the recess while the ridges were mostly scoured clean.

Simple winter beauty.

The light was fading and the snow hadn't completely stopped when I finally returned to my truck. I experienced a new life first by shoveling snow while wearing snowshoes to extricate my truck. It had been a very enjoyable walk, with the benefit of physical exertion. I drove home on the still very snowy roads. I managed to only slide off the road and bounce off a snow bank once on the way.

On January 17th I headed to Pleasant Valley Preserve in Lyme for another bout of Connecticut Snowshoeing. I didn't know what the trail conditions would be so I also packed my cross country skis. I figured the snowshoes would still be preferable at this point but one never knows. I timed my hike to extend into the night as the sky was clear and the waxing moon was nearing full. I love the forest at night and frequently hike in the dark.

Pleasant Valley Preserve sign and map in Lyme, Connecticut.

Once I parked I scoped out the snow/trail appearance and decided that indeed it snowshoes and not skis today. Once geared up, I headed in and quickly was reminded just how many seldom seen animals are present in our deciduous forests. In a small field a large brush pile has been built up, presumably for wildlife. It certainly was working. Around this pile, in the snow cover, were the tracks of Cottontail Rabbits that clearly showed the entry holes into the brush pile that the rabbits were using for shelter. These were either the tracks of the introduced Eastern Cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus), or the greatly diminished New England Cottontail (Sylvilagus transitionalis), but I could not be sure. You can separate the species in a number of subtle ways but field researchers are now heavily relying on DNA determination in the droppings. Yup, you are what you poop. The New England Cottontail needs transitional habitat, cleared land that is reverting to dense brush. The Eastern Cottontail is able to exploit a larger variety of habitats, and thus out-competes the native New England. The State of Connecticut is doing studies to try and help the remaining populations of New England Cottontails, one of which is at Bluff Point Coastal Reserve in Groton. Some individuals of both species have been out-fitted with radio transmitters to better understand their dynamics. A rabbit with a white waistcoat and pocket watch has nothing on a bunny with a transmitter. Apologies to Lewis Carroll. In addition to the rabbit tracks, White-footed Mice tracks also abounded, not to mention the searching tracks of the Eastern Coyote (Lupis latrans).

Cottontail tracks around brush pile and at rabbit hole entrance. White-footed Mouse tracks can be seen at upper left.

There is a nice stand of Red Cedar in an open field on the preserve. I wanted to search for Saw-whet Owls in the stand before dark so I continued on. You need to walk under each tree and look up into it to find these diminutive little owls. I spent about a half hour doing so to no avail. I could easily have missed one of these winter visitors though, they can be tough to spot when properly tucked into the tree.

Northern Saw-whet (Aegolius acadicus). Photo by AJ Hand

 Feeling I had given it the ole college try, and by ole college try I mean a half-hearted quick look, I followed some White-tailed Deer tracks down to the Eight Mile River which borders the preserve. The river was largely frozen over and the snow, ice, and moonlight were gorgeous on this marvelous stream. A winter's stream frozen in crystal and white under a silver disc.

The nearly full moon over the Red Cedars of Pleasant Valley.

The frozen Eight Mile River in the moonlight.

The day had nearly ended and night was falling on Pleasant Valley. I love being in the forest at night, did I mention that? Now was time to just walk and enjoy. I climbed back up to the Cedar field and as I prepared to hike the forest I noticed the tracks of what I believe was a White-footed Mouse crossing the snow. White-footed Mice will cross the snow surface and then dive into the snow and tunnel. Here was clear evidence.

The tracks of what was likely a White-footed Mouse end at a hole created when the Mouse decided to return to tunneling under the snow.

I had brought a headlamp with for when the daylight failed. However the nearly full moon on the snowy forest floor was more than enough light to see my way. The rest of my hike was in the silence and the dark. It was superb.

Beauty, silence, cold, a nocturne most wonderful.

January 22, 2011. It was time for a more serious walk. The weather had produced another snowfall on top of the unusually deep base here in southeastern Connecticut. But it also rained briefly during the storm. So I knew there would be a layer of crust, wet snow that had refrozen dense and hard. This meant little compression under the snowshoes. So a long hard walk was in the offing. And another night walk. This time I headed for the Lyme Unit of Nehantic State Forest. The last night hike I had done here had been during the summer and I had the sound of Flying Squirrels to accompany me throughout the walk. None of that tonight.

Arriving at the forest road I found it unplowed, so dropping my truck into four-wheel drive, I plowed through to the parking area. From this small gravel (now snowy) lot I have started many a walk in the forest. Tonight I saw that someone had already been both snowshoeing and cross country skiing here. As part of my hike would be on forest trail and not just forest road, I chose snowshoes.

Someone had beaten me to it. I was not the first to snowshoe the forest road.

This was to be a roughly three and one half mile jaunt. Once again the night was still and beautiful. The moon was now passed full and would not rise till I was done. So I had my headlamp with me, but as usual I would resist using it till the last possible moment. As I traversed this now very familiar hike, I was struck by the plethora of tracks in the snow. Distantly a pair of Barred Owls called. First the deep "Who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you-all," of the male, then shortly after the higher pitch of an answering female. I have never failed to hear these wonderful birds in Nehantic at night, though oddly I have not succeeded in seeing them here. I have seen a Chuck-wills-widow in this forest, a very uncommon night bird from the south, related to a Whippoorwill, but I just haven't laid eyes on the common Barred Owl in this forest. Life is chance, is it not? 

Barred Owl (Strix Varia) in Connecticut. By AJ Hand 2002

As I cruised along my mind wandered, as it usually does on long hikes, though this wasn't really a long hike. However tonight I kept being brought up short by tracks in the snow. Gray Squirrel, White-footed Mouse, shrew tunnels, White-tailed Deer, Coyote, Red Fox, human, and dog. The forest floor spoke of many passages while the silence suggested otherwise. Silent does not mean empty, clearly. At one point a pack of Coyotes howled and yipped briefly, and yet again I felt the thrill of hearing these wild carnivorans.

The trail of a White-footed Mouse showing tail prints as well.

A closer look

The tale of the tracks. Old showshoe prints overlaid by new snow and then cross country skis on top. To the right is the straight track of a Red Fox.

Tunnels, probably shrew, Short-tailed most likely but possibly Masked? Gray Squirrel jumping through.

The night was getting very cold as I hiked, nothing better illustrated this than the energy bar in my pack being frozen solid when I stopped to eat it. It was the better part of two and a half hours when I finally returned to the parking area. One more exquisite night hike in a forest. As I paused before stripping off gear, I looked at the night sky. My breath turned to silver mist that swirled and twisted upward like a dissipating spirit. The stars shone intensely bright and clear with shreds of wispy clouds stretched between. How bereft of romance, how dead to the beauty of the world, how soulless must a person be, to be able to look at the night sky bespeckled with the countless points of light from our galaxy on a still winter's night, and not be left in awe?

Tweed Wolf, The Eastern Coyote

Many years ago... Across a grassy meadow on the Kaibab Plateau in Arizona, a single hunter loped. I watched this carnivoran from a distance through my spotting scope, and momentarily I thought I was watching a fox. Then I realized the solitary predator was a coyote. I was on the north rim of the Grand Canyon, and I was watching my first western coyote while a sky blue Mountain Bluebird watched me in turn from a nearby perch. Why did I momentarily mistake this creature for a fox? Because it was noticeably smaller and daintier than the coyotes I was familiar with in my native New England. But why would this be?

"The idea of wilderness needs no defense. It only needs more defenders." Edward Abbey

Western Coyote (Canis latrans) Photographed by Jim Zipp in New Mexico

 

Eastern Coyote In Connecticut by Paul Fusco

Canis latrans. Eastern Coyote. "Tweed Wolf." Now common in New England, this icon of the wild is a relatively new arrival here. There are many people still living who were born before the Coyote came to New England. Before Europeans came to settle northeastern North America, the landscape of the region was mostly forested. This was not the habitat of the Coyote, a species that had evolved to prey on small mammals in the open grasslands and deserts of the west. The forested landscape of New England was the habitat of the White-tailed Deer and the Moose, and it was the home of the Wolf. Wolves once roamed virtually all of what is now the lower 48 states and nearly all of North America. Generally speaking, two species of North American wolf were historically recognized, the Red Wolf (canus rufus) of the southern and southeast United States, and the Gray Wolf (Canus lupus) in the west and northeast. It was long recognized however that the wolves in New England and southeastern Canada were smaller than the Gray Wolves of the west. These eastern wolves were considered a subspecies of Gray Wolf, and as such they were identified as canis lupus lycaon. Now the genetic evidence strongly suggests otherwise, that the eastern "Gray" wolves are a separate species, the Great Lakes Wolf (Canis lycaon.)

Great Lakes Wolf (Canis lycaon) USFW Photo

A predator's evolutionary course and success is based on the prey it hunts. In the northeast, the Great Lakes Wolf evolved to hunt the White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus). This was a species of the eastern deciduous forest. North of the White-tailed Deer's range, where the larger ungulate the Moose (Alces alces) dominated in coniferous forests, the Great Lakes Wolf range ended and it was replaced by the larger Gray Wolf. The Great Lakes Wolf is not large enough to hunt Moose efficiently. Its head and jaw are too small and lack the musculature to bite and hang onto the larger more powerful ungulate. This predator prey size relationship acts as a biological barrier against a predator species' range expansion. The predator can not expand into areas where reliable prey doesn't exist. So before Europeans came to America, The Great Lakes Wolf roamed the northeast, the Coyote loped across the southwest, the Red Wolf hunted the southeast, and the Gray Wolf howled throughout the west and the far north. The distribution of these carnivorans was determined by prey, habitat, and biological barriers in a natural balance.

White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus) Prey of the Great Lakes Wolf. Photo by Paul Fusco

Moose (Alces alces) One of the primary prey species of the Gray Wolf in eastern North America.  Photo by Jim Zipp

With the coming of Europeans came great and sweeping changes in the landscape and fauna of the northeast. The forest was felled and replaced by agriculture and grasslands. The wolf was feared and reviled and hunted relentlessly. Eventually no wolves were left alive in the northeast. The numbers of Moose fell as well, and the species' range withdrew northward. The predator prey balance was destroyed and the faunal diversity of New England plummeted. The wolves were gone. The predators that remained, Black Bears in small numbers in rugged mountain retreats, Gray Foxes in declining numbers, adaptive Red Foxes in increasing numbers, and Bobcats in small numbers, were no threat to White-tailed Deer that remained. The ecosystem of the northeast was forever altered.

 

Bobcat (Lynx rufus) in Connecticut. Photo by Paul Fusco.

The anthropogenic changes wrought on the northeast by the early Europeans were not to last unchanged either however. The open grasslands and agricultural lands slowly gave way to reforestation as farming and herding dwindled as major components of human land use. With the patchwork reforestation, and without a predator of ungulates, the White-tailed Deer flourished and expanded farther north than it had historically existed. Where once Moose fled before Gary Wolf packs, now White-tailed Deer existed untroubled by hungry carnivorans and soon the Deer population was larger than ever. The northeast was ripe for a large predator. But which one could exploit this open niche? By the twentieth century, wolves were greatly diminished or extirpated from much of their former ranges across North America. Not only had the wolves been been subjected to an organized slaughter by man, they had also starved as their prey dwindled. The survival of the Gray Wolf requires large numbers of Bison, Elk, Black-tailed Deer, Moose, and other large ungulates. These species's numbers also crashed as the new "Americans" moved westward. But one North American carnivoran could succeed in the now fractured and battered ecosystems of North America. The stage was set for the great success of the Coyote.

Coyote in Connecticut. Photo by Jim Zipp

 The combination of an altered landscape and the removal of the Wolf allowed the Coyote to expand its range. The Coyote preys primarily on smaller mammals than the Wolf. While large wolves do eat small mammals as well, the species can not survive without large prey animals. The wolf packs were gone, and Coyotes, though persecuted by man as well, moved in. The expansion was rapid. In the late 1800's and early 1900's the species reached Ontario west of the Great Lakes and then continued to rapidly expand eastward north of the lakes. It is believed that the expansion north of the lakes was pioneered by just a few individuals. While this northern route was being pushed rapidly eastward through Ontario, a slower expansion was also occurring south of the Great Lakes in the United States. This was partly due to a greater density of human occupation south of the lakes but there was a more ecologically significant factor in the disparate rates of expansion. The rapidity of the expansion along the northern route was greatly aided by a key factor, the Great Lakes Wolf. This species still existed north of the lakes and the pioneering Coyotes came into contact with them. One result of this contact was crucial to the Coyotes rapid success in the northeast, hybridization. But why should this happen now, why didn't it happen where Coyotes and Gray Wolves were sympatric in the west?

Recent genetic research is painting a clearer taxonomic picture of the canid species in North America. It is now believed that the Great Lakes Wolf and the Red Wolf may be more closely related genetically to the Coyote than to the Gray Wolf. Where the Gray Wolf and Coyote both existed, there appears to have been no successful hybridization. Hybridization often occurs where closely related species exist in contact with one another and one of the species occurs in small numbers while the other species occurs in larger numbers. An example birders will readily recognize is the decline of the scarce Golden-winged Warbler (Vermivora chrysoptera) as it hybridizes with the more numerous Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera.) But this interbreeding does not seem to happen with Gray Wolves and Coyotes. The reintroduction of Gray Wolves to Yellowstone National Park and the slow natural repopulation of Gray Wolves in the northern Rockies in Idaho and Montana has not led to hybridization but rather seems to highlight the genetic and phenological differences between the species. The story was different with the contact of the few Coyotes among the Great Lakes Wolves in Ontario. Successful hybridization did occur. One result of this was a larger, more powerful Coyote, the Eastern Coyote. A "Tweed Wolf." This new form of Coyote came with new skills and advantages that were to prove very useful in the anthropogenic landscape of the northeast.

Wolf and Coyote in Yellowstone National Park. Photo from the blog Ecobirder.

The Coyote evolved to hunt small mammals in semi-arid and desert habitat. It did not hunt ungulates and it did not enter forests. It's head and the musculature of its jaw were not up to tackling White-tailed Deer. But with the hybridization with Great Lakes Wolf, the Eastern Coyote now is larger, shows sexual dimorphism (males are larger than females), and has proportionally larger and stronger jaws. This new jaw size and strength allows the Eastern Coyote to grasp a White-tailed Deer and hang on while the ungulate fights for its life. New behaviors were exhibited by the hybrid as well, it acted more wolf-like and readily entered the reforested habitat of the northeast. This northern hybrid expansion to the east far out-paced the southern route below the Great lakes, which was being carried out by essentially unaltered Western Coyotes. Eastern Coyotes reached Quebec in 1945, New Brunswick, Canada, in 1958, and Maine in 1970. It continued to expand eastward and then southward eventually wrapping around the Great Lakes and heading back southwestward. This expansion met up with the non-hybrid Western Coyotes moving slowly eastward forming a contact zone in western New York and Pennsylvania. The void had been filled, a large carnivoran had resettled the northeast.

Eastern Coyote in Guilford, CT. Photo by Bob Gundersen.

There remains a distinct fear and loathing of Wolves and Coyotes in some people. This is despite the fact that our most loved pet is the domestic dog (Canis familiaris), which is the descendant of domesticated Wolves. When the Eastern Coyote showed up in the northeast, people recognized they were bigger and acted differently than Western Coyotes. They called them "Coydogs," assuming these Coyotes had hybridized with domestic dogs. Genetic research has proven this to be untrue. While dogs and Coyotes can interbreed, the resulting hybrid has behavioral and biological disadvantages that create an evolutionary dead end. These hybrids (shown by genetic research to be extraordinarily rare) do not reproduce successful young in the wild. It was also thought that it might have been phenological plasticity that caused the larger Coyotes. Phenological plasticity is when an organism develops in different ways in different areas based on environmental conditions, such as Blue Jays being larger in the northern part of their range. Now we know it isn't "Coydogs", it isn't phenological plasticity, it is the Wolf within.

Coyote. Photo by Jim Zipp.

It is paramount that we strive to understand the natural world. Despite what some would have us believe, our survival depends on a healthy functioning environment. I also believe that our natural world has worth beyond any price. The howling of the Wolf once struck fear in us, and there are many who still would kill all the Wolves and Coyotes. This hatred of Wolves and Coyotes seems in some ways primal, and is certainly in no way rational in today's world. Why do humans see such malevolence in these predators, these progenitors of our dearest companions? Is it that some see in the Wolf all that is deplorable in our own nature? I don't know the answer. But I do know that the howling of Wolves and Coyotes is a most welcomed sound to me personally, and if these voices were no longer to be heard in the wilds of North America, it would be an incalculable loss.

"If the wolf is to survive, the wolf haters must be outnumbered. They must be outshouted, out financed, and out voted."     L. David Mech

Truly the call of the wild. Coyote in Connecticut. Photo by Jim Zipp.

References used in preparing for this entry include:

"Rapid Adaptive Evolution of Northeastern Coyotes via Hybridization with Wolves" Keys, Curtis, Kitchman. 2009.

"The Cranial Evidence for Hybridization in New England Canis" Lawrence and Bossert. 1969.

"Hybridization Among Three Native North American Canis Species in a Region of Natural Sympatry" Hailer and Leonard. 2008.

"Genetic Nature of Eastern Wolves: Past, Present, and Future" Kyle, Johnson, Patterson, Wilson, Shami, Grewal, and White. 2005.

"Legacy Lost: Genetic Variability and Population Size of Extirpated US Grey Wolves (Canis lupus)" Leonard, Vila, and Wayne. 2004.

"Widespread Occurrence of a Domestic Dog mitochondrial DNA haplotype in Southeastern US Coyotes" Adams, Leonard, and Waits. 2002.

An Old Freak, Much Laughter, and Cold Mist. Day 2

"The opposite of courage in our society is not cowardice, it is conformity." - Rollo May

Garfield Trail at low elevation. An easy stroll through deciduous forest

 The clouds were darkening and the light was failing as the afternoon was surrendering to evening. I truly felt the need to push onward on my trek to the Garfield Ridge Campsite high above me.The lower stretches of the Garfield Trail are fairly flat and rock free and allow for easy and fast hiking. Still, I had a 45 pound pack on my back, and this was the second 4,000 footer ascent of the day. So I was not feeling particularly strong and I did not want to run out of daylight before I reached the AMC campsite. As the day wound down many day hikers who had spent a beautiful October day in the White Mountains were now returning to their cars to head home. I stopped and spoke with each group of hikers I met. They all were curious about my destination. There is a sense of community among hikers that makes for easy conversation and a feeling of camaraderie. Most of the people I spoke with remarked that I had a way to go still to reach the Garfield Ridge Campsite, at least those who actually knew of its existence. The deciduous forest on the lower flank of Garfield Ridge was coloring up with the yellows and reds of the advancing autumn but the rich green of the summer still dominated.

Garfield Trail crosses Spruce Brook

 The hip belt of my pack kept slowly slipping lower as I went. I have fairly narrow hips and I have to cinch the belt very tight to try and keep it where it will bear weight properly. I could feel the skin under the belt chafing uncomfortably and I was sweating with the effort of the hike. I came to the crossing of Spruce Brook and gratefully splashed the cool mountain water on my face and neck. The simple comfort of the water rinsing the sweat and grime off my skin felt like high luxury. I repeated these ablutions over and over, not wanting the sensual pleasure and feeling of cleanliness to end. But rain was threatening and I had a ridge to climb, so slipping my hands into the straps of my trekking poles I walked on.

Early on the Garfield Trail. Easy slope and footing.

  When you are hiking the White Mountain trails you adjust your stride and pace to the footing offered up to you. Early on the Garfield Trail the trail bed is an easy slope with few rocks, allowing long strides and a fast pace. I took advantage of this to make good time. My mind often wanders far afield when I don't have to concentrate on my footing. As I strode along my thoughts flew to the people and events of my life, as music wound throughout the landscape of my daydreams. It is as if I was on two journeys, one physical and one spiritual, both winding and both long. Meeting a few more hikers leaving the forest interrupted both journeys. One man, with a tan that was too deep and bronzed to look like the honest burnished skin of an outdoorsman, who was also wearing the paratrooper type boots that only someone who had never been a paratrooper would buy, complained what an awful trail this was to hike. Thinking to myself that I could not agree with such a judgment, I replied "Oh yes?" "Yes!" was his emphatic reply, he assured me he had hiked all over the Whites and this was one of the worst trails he had ever hiked. I laughed to myself but politely bid him a good finish to his hike and I continued on.

Garfield Trail reaches the transition from deciduous to coniferous

Thoughts of the bronzy paratrooper hiker soon faded. The trail was entering the transition where the near total dominance of deciduous trees was giving way to more and more firs. The trail itself was getting more studded with rock and stone and a fine light rain was now falling. If the rain became steady I was in for an uncomfortable finish to my hike. And no hiker wants to establish a camp in the rain if he or she can avoid it. The growing worry that nightfall and rainfall would find me before I found the campsite spurred me on at the fastest pace I could manage. My breathe was hard and deep, the sweat flowed liberally, my hips burned from the pack, and my legs felt heavy. Perversely, I felt as alive as I possibly could.

The Spruce Forest of the higher elevations

The rain sputtered and failed. The light continued to wane however. My steps were no longer precise and fatigue was my constant companion, causing me to stumble a bit and stub my feet on the rocks that protruded from the trail bed like broken teeth. I started to look off the trail for possible spots to camp in case I could not make the campsite before dark. It is surprising how lonely the mountains can feel at the gloaming when you are alone. I pride myself on presenting a confident and reassuring face to others when things are going poorly, to help them feel more optimistic themselves. That doesn't work on yourself however. It's harder to buck up your own spirits. I was thinking that very soon I would need to break out the headlamp when I finally reached the trail junction that would take me to the campsite. The relief was very welcome.

The trail junction that heralded the end of the long day was nigh. A welcomed sight indeed.

Here I turned eastward and downward. Garfield loomed above me in the gloaming, but I would visit that peak on the morn. Now all I wanted was to get this pack off my back and set up camp. The trail dropped very steeply and I had to take it very slowly. Fatigue is a deadly enemy on steep rocky trails, and descending these with a heavy pack is damnably hard on knees. After a painful descent of some fifteen to twenty minutes I reached the spur trail that leads to the campsite. I had smelled woodsmoke for some time, and as I reached the campsite I saw several hikers gathered around a nice fire. These AMC campsites have caretakers during the summer season and I soon found him. He told what tent platforms were still available and after exchanging a few words I set off to find the wooden deck that would be my home for the night.

My one man tent was soon erected and preparations for dinner were underway.

The tents of my neighbors for the night on companion to my tent platform.

As I set up camp I had the opportunity to meet the other hikers who were using the tent platform next to mine. They were four young men in their late twenties. We soon had a conversation underway and in an act of immeasurable generosity one of the fine young gentlemen shared some red wine with me. Clearly they were some of the finest examples of humanity. When my tent was complete and I had eaten a simple fare, I joined the others around the fire. Soon we were sharing hiking war stories and laughing. About a dozen of us spent a pleasant hour dodging campfire smoke and talking in the night. I am of the opinion that standing around a fire in the mountains at night sharing good drink and telling tales could make the fastest of friends of the deepest of enemies. Ah , would that it were, would that it were... After this most enjoyable commune, I crawled into my tent and into my sleeping bag. The night was cold and damp. My bag was dry and warm. To sleep, perchance to dream.

The caretaker's tent at Garfield Ridge Campsite.

During the night I had seen the ghostly glow of moonlight through my tent. But daylight revealed that a cold mist had settled on the mountain, just a few hundred feet above us. There would be no views to be had today alas. After preparing to hike up to the summit of Garfield, I headed out. Many of my fellow travelers were up and about as well. The gathering splintered back into the disparate groups that had arrived separately last night, heading off in different directions with different goals. First I stopped at the natural spring below the campsite and then I followed several hikers up the trail back to the Garfield Ridge Trail.

The spring below the campsite.

Looking eastward toward Galehead Mountain and the Twins. The clouds loom just above Galehead but have encased the Twins.

The steep climb back up to Garfield Ridge Trail.

I had left my camp set up and was now just carrying a light daypack. This was a blessed relief. Still the steep climb up to the ridge trail soon had me huffing and sweating. It wasn't long before I reached the ridge trail however, and I continued onward towards the summit of Mount Garfield. The low hanging clouds soon enveloped me as I climbed. No one else was headed to the summit this morning. Mount Garfield has spectacular views of the Pemigewasset Wilderness, or so I have read. There would be no views today. Being in the clouds is like being inside a cold and clammy cotton ball. It was into this cold mist that I scaled upwards to the summit.

Into the mist. The scramble up to the summit of Garfield.

The summit of Mount Garfield used to have a fire observation tower. The concrete foundation still remains. Once on the summit I felt truly alone. Lost in a cold mist on a lonely peak. In all directions a cold white fog robbed me of the spectacular views of the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Yet in this cold mist, on this lonely peak, I felt the warmth of another goal achieved, another life experience had, another victory over myself. It is all too easy to take the easy way in life, never setting goals, never challenging oneself, never doing, never being. I was very glad to have made the effort. I could not see the view, but I knew it was out there, and I knew if I never passed this way again, I had passed this way once.

The old tower foundation on Garfield summit.

On Garfield Summit, in the clouds.

A cold mist hugs the summit

After spending a half hour on the summit it was time to head back and break camp. The return hike to the campsite was uneventful. There was no lifting of the clouds and the day seemed to grow darker rather than brighter. When I arrived back at the campsite all the campers had left. The caretaker was alone. I spoke with him for a while and learned he was originally from Connecticut as well. He was on his last day as caretaker and would be hiking out later, his tour of duty up for another year.

The night's campers were gone. A through hiker stops briefly at the shelter at Garfield Ridge Campsite.

 He had the latest weather forecast as well and told me heavy rain was headed into the region. So my trip was to end sooner than originally planned. I was disappointed that my long hike was cut short. But in life you have to make choices. If the most difficult choice I had to make this day was to keep hiking in the mountains in the rain or to head back the comfort of my Connecticut home, than I was more fortunate than many. It had been a good trip. I had climbed the Old Freak, met new fiends, laughed in the night, and stood on a mountain peak in a cold mist. Life could be worse, much worse.

The trail out. In the mist.