McRat
New member
Hi all,
Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Life keeps ya busy. I'm still out roaming the woods when I can, and writing long-winded TRs when I shouldn't.
The SherpaKroto tribute towel is back with me again after spending some time in the lost-and-found bin at the Moosilauke Ravine lodge.
------------------
It had been weeks since my last hike, and when I got the news that an unexpected schedule change meant a free day with good weather, I was giddy.
The last month had been hectic – three in our family got pneumonia, work had picked up considerably, as well as the usual chaotic scheduling that comes with three kids in school. I had been cooped up at home and desperately needed a hike.
When I got the word and checked out the weather reports, I started tearing through my gear and getting a pack ready. I posted an notice to see if anyone was up for anything in the Wildcats, Carters, Moriah range, and quickly had Sticks and Amicus joining me for an 8:30 meet and car spot.
I set the alarm for 4:30 and hit the bed at 10:30 with visions of the trail ahead. Must have been strong visions, as I woke up dozens of times constantly checking the clock. By the time 3:30 rolled around I wondered if I got any sleep at all… all the while trying to will the clock to 4:30 so I could get going. Did I mention being overdue for a hike?
At 4:27 I figured I didn’t need to wait for the alarm, and I headed to the other room where my gear and clothes were waiting. I was moving quickly for this early. Too quick. When I pulled my wicking T-shirt over my head, I managed to scrape my eye again.
(PSA – Eye protection is a good thing – It has been over a year and a half since I took a stick in my eye on Waumbek, but thanks to Recurring Corneal Erosion Syndrome, I get to relive a small part of the experience about once every 2-3 months.)
I hit the road one-eyed, blinking at any bright lights along my way. Fortunately it was fairly dark, and I headed up the highway with tears streaming down one side of my face wondering why the heck I’m out here anyways.
As the sun rose, I thought I’d turn back, but with Amicus and Sticks waiting, I figured I’d tough it out until the trailhead, and see how I felt from there. With sunglasses on, and a determination to blink as little as possible, I somehow made my way through Franconia, Crawford, and Pinkham notch to find Sticks and Amicus waiting.
They spotted a car at the Carter-Moriah trailhead, and soon they were back and heading up the Stony Brook trail shortly after 9:00.
In spite of occasional blasts of light causing me some delays, I found this one of my favorite trails to date.
The trail starts off fairly gently, and stays that way for quite a while. While under-blazed in places, the trail is fairly obvious, with the exception of an unmarked turn from a logging road to a stream crossing. If you head this way and start thinking the trail is a bit more overgrown than typical, look to your right and down and you’ll see the other side of the water crossing. There is more obvious signage if you are traveling the other way.
We enjoyed the late fall colors, the streams, and the occasional surprisingly verdant section along the way, chatting and appreciating the unseasonably warm weather.
The final approach to the Carter-Moriah trail junction does get steeper, but before long you are treated to some gorgeous views, and the grade eases up a bit. There was a bit of ice on the trail, but little elsewhere and we were generally able to bypass the ice.
Deciding that things were going entirely too pleasantly, I managed to make a careless footing choice and promptly genuflected to the mountain – scraping my shins and bruising me knee. I took a break and Sticks offered to loan me his poles. I continued along the trail on Stick’s sticks.
While I move slow, the Carter-Moriah trail feels fast. A couple of minutes in the trees, and BANG – a granite ledge with sweeping views, repeat.
Just before the summit we met up with an AMC group, the only other people we’d see that day. We were delighted to meet with trip leader Ed Hawkins, and he agreed to pose with the SherpaKroto tribute towel, and asked me to send his best wishes along.
We parted and were soon at the summit of Moriah. My 42nd NH four thousand footer and Stick’s 38th. While the Presidential range blocks views to many of the NH48, the views from the tiny summit were outstanding. We enjoyed lunch and tried naming peaks, but after the obvious ones, I was out of my league. We snapped a few pictures and headed down the trail in a race against sunset.
It was a slow race on my part. There was quite a bit more ice on the Carter-Moriah trail than the Stony Brook, and it would prove to be present at lower elevations as well. The icy trails were manageable, but looking back, I would have put on the stabilicers if I had known how many small icy sections there were. Just like my corneal annoyance, as soon as we thought the ice was behind us for good, another section would appear.
Just as the sun sank behind the silhouette of the northern Presidentials through the trees, the trailhead parking lot appeared below. We congratulated each other on a day well spent, and went our separate ways.
I’d like to thank Sticks for the sticks, and both for their enjoyable company. If they hadn’t been waiting for me, I’d have probably stayed home or turned back – missing out on a great day.
On the long ride home, between singing along with the radio and bouts of Moosephobia (where every tree at dusk appears to be a moose perched on the starting line), I thought about the journey so far.
42.
Douglas Adams fans will recognize this number as the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything. Fans throughout the years have tried to guess at the significance of this number, going so far as to point out that it is ‘what you get when you multiply six by nine (in base 13)’. Late in his career he was asked the significance of this number and was presented with several theories as to why the answer to life, the universe, and everything was 42. His response – “The answer to this is very simple. It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought '42 will do' I typed it out. End of story. ”
As I spent time at home sick and dealing with the annoyances common to all, I was becoming bitter and began to despair. What IS the point of life, the universe, and everything?!?
Turns out it’s 42.
It’s what you make of it. All I know is after getting a hike and claiming number 42, the world seemed to make a little more sense, and I was satisfied being part of it.
I slept well that night.
PICS HERE
The SherpaKroto tribute towel marches on
Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Life keeps ya busy. I'm still out roaming the woods when I can, and writing long-winded TRs when I shouldn't.
The SherpaKroto tribute towel is back with me again after spending some time in the lost-and-found bin at the Moosilauke Ravine lodge.
------------------
It had been weeks since my last hike, and when I got the news that an unexpected schedule change meant a free day with good weather, I was giddy.
The last month had been hectic – three in our family got pneumonia, work had picked up considerably, as well as the usual chaotic scheduling that comes with three kids in school. I had been cooped up at home and desperately needed a hike.
When I got the word and checked out the weather reports, I started tearing through my gear and getting a pack ready. I posted an notice to see if anyone was up for anything in the Wildcats, Carters, Moriah range, and quickly had Sticks and Amicus joining me for an 8:30 meet and car spot.
I set the alarm for 4:30 and hit the bed at 10:30 with visions of the trail ahead. Must have been strong visions, as I woke up dozens of times constantly checking the clock. By the time 3:30 rolled around I wondered if I got any sleep at all… all the while trying to will the clock to 4:30 so I could get going. Did I mention being overdue for a hike?
At 4:27 I figured I didn’t need to wait for the alarm, and I headed to the other room where my gear and clothes were waiting. I was moving quickly for this early. Too quick. When I pulled my wicking T-shirt over my head, I managed to scrape my eye again.
(PSA – Eye protection is a good thing – It has been over a year and a half since I took a stick in my eye on Waumbek, but thanks to Recurring Corneal Erosion Syndrome, I get to relive a small part of the experience about once every 2-3 months.)
I hit the road one-eyed, blinking at any bright lights along my way. Fortunately it was fairly dark, and I headed up the highway with tears streaming down one side of my face wondering why the heck I’m out here anyways.
As the sun rose, I thought I’d turn back, but with Amicus and Sticks waiting, I figured I’d tough it out until the trailhead, and see how I felt from there. With sunglasses on, and a determination to blink as little as possible, I somehow made my way through Franconia, Crawford, and Pinkham notch to find Sticks and Amicus waiting.
They spotted a car at the Carter-Moriah trailhead, and soon they were back and heading up the Stony Brook trail shortly after 9:00.
In spite of occasional blasts of light causing me some delays, I found this one of my favorite trails to date.
The trail starts off fairly gently, and stays that way for quite a while. While under-blazed in places, the trail is fairly obvious, with the exception of an unmarked turn from a logging road to a stream crossing. If you head this way and start thinking the trail is a bit more overgrown than typical, look to your right and down and you’ll see the other side of the water crossing. There is more obvious signage if you are traveling the other way.
We enjoyed the late fall colors, the streams, and the occasional surprisingly verdant section along the way, chatting and appreciating the unseasonably warm weather.
The final approach to the Carter-Moriah trail junction does get steeper, but before long you are treated to some gorgeous views, and the grade eases up a bit. There was a bit of ice on the trail, but little elsewhere and we were generally able to bypass the ice.
Deciding that things were going entirely too pleasantly, I managed to make a careless footing choice and promptly genuflected to the mountain – scraping my shins and bruising me knee. I took a break and Sticks offered to loan me his poles. I continued along the trail on Stick’s sticks.
While I move slow, the Carter-Moriah trail feels fast. A couple of minutes in the trees, and BANG – a granite ledge with sweeping views, repeat.
Just before the summit we met up with an AMC group, the only other people we’d see that day. We were delighted to meet with trip leader Ed Hawkins, and he agreed to pose with the SherpaKroto tribute towel, and asked me to send his best wishes along.
We parted and were soon at the summit of Moriah. My 42nd NH four thousand footer and Stick’s 38th. While the Presidential range blocks views to many of the NH48, the views from the tiny summit were outstanding. We enjoyed lunch and tried naming peaks, but after the obvious ones, I was out of my league. We snapped a few pictures and headed down the trail in a race against sunset.
It was a slow race on my part. There was quite a bit more ice on the Carter-Moriah trail than the Stony Brook, and it would prove to be present at lower elevations as well. The icy trails were manageable, but looking back, I would have put on the stabilicers if I had known how many small icy sections there were. Just like my corneal annoyance, as soon as we thought the ice was behind us for good, another section would appear.
Just as the sun sank behind the silhouette of the northern Presidentials through the trees, the trailhead parking lot appeared below. We congratulated each other on a day well spent, and went our separate ways.
I’d like to thank Sticks for the sticks, and both for their enjoyable company. If they hadn’t been waiting for me, I’d have probably stayed home or turned back – missing out on a great day.
On the long ride home, between singing along with the radio and bouts of Moosephobia (where every tree at dusk appears to be a moose perched on the starting line), I thought about the journey so far.
42.
Douglas Adams fans will recognize this number as the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything. Fans throughout the years have tried to guess at the significance of this number, going so far as to point out that it is ‘what you get when you multiply six by nine (in base 13)’. Late in his career he was asked the significance of this number and was presented with several theories as to why the answer to life, the universe, and everything was 42. His response – “The answer to this is very simple. It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought '42 will do' I typed it out. End of story. ”
As I spent time at home sick and dealing with the annoyances common to all, I was becoming bitter and began to despair. What IS the point of life, the universe, and everything?!?
Turns out it’s 42.
It’s what you make of it. All I know is after getting a hike and claiming number 42, the world seemed to make a little more sense, and I was satisfied being part of it.
I slept well that night.
PICS HERE
The SherpaKroto tribute towel marches on
