Section Hiker, Weather Watcher (Part 4): Wilderness

Tuesday, June 6, 2023 – Wilderness 

It’s pitch black when I wake to walk out to the bathroom. Pause on the porch to see the waning Strawberry Moon nestled in the Notch. Today we’ll head out the Ethan Pond Trail to Crawford Notch.  It’s one of my neighbor Kris’ favorite trails which surprises me as he is one for super long and rigorous competitions in the mountains. A few weeks ago he ran up and down to Lonesome Lake some 20 times, 66 miles, to raise money for the food pantry. I delight in seeing a few stars this early morning. Clear skies bode well for a gift of a day.

I return to my top bunk to pull on my damp hiking clothes and fold the wool blankets piled at the foot of the bunk.  

Adults don’t sleep in bunkbeds. 6 year old boys with little sisters do.  

I drape the blanket over the edge, flap it gently. A giggle from Jen in the bunk below. Pull it up, fold it once and let it descend and flap once more. The second blanket descends. This time it flies out and snaps back at my helpless bunkmate below. 

“Hey!”  A tee shirt flies helplessly up.

The final, third blanket descends. Quickly snaps back to a startled, “OOOOH!”

Success!  

I can’t stop laughing. 

I continue to laugh as I climb down the ladder and take off to the bathroom. The women are reprimanded and reminded by other guests that quiet time lasts until 6:30. 

I join the small group of early risers with plastic cups of hot coffee, as the hut master serenades us on her ukulele with “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”  

How many hikers don’t fall in love with the hut crew! 

Oh yes, I love this little hut by the stream.  

After breakfast we’re gifted with a graduation ceremony and receive our own Junior Naturalist Badges. And yes, still laughing about my early morning victory, “I thought the first time that he couldn’t have done that on purpose… I felt bad snapping my tee shirt back at him….”

Before we set out, I’m asked to offer a water blessing for my hiking friends at the stream. (What are they thinking?). We share our thanks for the gift of this thundering stream water and so many things we have discovered out here like laughter and lady-slippers, delicious hot meals at the hut and hamburgers on the ride over to the trail. For Roger and each other.  As we close, I draw them over close to the pool where I’m kneeling, to splash and bless my friends to shouts of delight.  

And yes, I’ll add the gift of sunlight this morning! There’s nothing like a day of fog to make you appreciate the sunlight today. 

The trail is smooth and overgrown. Heady with our Junior Naturalist knowledge we quiz each other, “What tool do they need to use on this trail?” 

“Loppers!”, my fellow Junior Naturalists cry.  Exactly! 

What is wilderness? This is wilderness: This valley torched and scorched, pillaged of trees and destroyed by fire. This valley a wasteland that some believed would never come back to life. 

And this valley and the little pockets of refugia and resilience, shelters of life, that connected together and turned what was once a “wasteland” into wilderness once more.    

We count 101 lady slippers along the way.  

A pause at Thoreau Falls.

Our sauntering mood switches to thoughts of Roger who is waiting at the end of the trail to drive us home. Without cell coverage, we can’t reach him to let him know we’re late. I think of that ride home. The promise of a hot shower, laundry, clean clothes, a delicious dinner. I swing out ahead. I never really got the joy of this – this way of stepping briskly down the trail. It’s always felt disparaging to not take in the slow stride and sweep of the trail. But today, Roger needs to be found, home beckons and I slide into the swing of a brisk stride and move out ahead.

Miles ahead, the sound of a train whistle – civilization beckoning.  

At last I come to the train track, cross it, and head down the steep incline to the parking lot. Call out, “We’re here!” to the car I think is honking for us. Alas, no, its the wrong car, wrong parking lot and no Roger. I turn back up the trail to the train tracks to wait for my hiking companions.  

Together we walk a slow mile up the side of the road to Wiley House where indeed waits Roger and Giffords ice cream. 

I drop off my laundry at Marsha and Roger’s, return an hour later showered and clean-clothed for a fabulous salmon and chicken dinner, blueberry pie and watermelon.  

The women have folded my laundry and ask me to check if it’s all there. They gather close around the counter as I sort through tee shirts, socks, and here a pee pad which I put aside with,“This is not mine” to their squeals of laughter.  

“This is what I have to put up with Roger.”

“You actually brought four pairs of socks?!,” they cry in wonder. “Four pairs?”