Section Hiker, Weather Watcher (Part 5): The Kinsman’s: Moose

Wednesday, June 7 – Kinsman’s 1: Moose

Years ago, Dad and I did this hike through the Kinsman’s, his last bit of the AT in New Hampshire to complete. I wanted to mark his effort and hike it with him.  

This early morning, low gray clouds, drizzle. We gather for a picture in the dirt parking lot. Roger takes off to meet us again in a couple of days after we descend into Franconia Notch.

It’s so quiet out here but for the brook that really is babbling beside the trail. It reminds me of my newest favorite trail here, Bridal Veil Falls, where Betty Davis and her lover fell in love and where a marker recalls a love that came to an end with an untimely accident.  

Later this morning as the trail turns from the brook into drizzle and cloud, no sound, just steady breathing, the patter of boots. No birds, no road, no hikers on the trail. I’m far enough ahead I can’t hear the women chattering  behind.  

Yes, its wet. Drizzly and cold and wonderful. The “wonderful” of it all surprises me once again. Those years ago hiking this trail with Dad I just didn’t get it. Didn’t get why anyone liked hiking, the plodding burden of it all. That day I used one hiking pole reluctantly, feeling too much like an old man I didn’t want to be. Fussed and worried about Dad navigating rocks when I should have worried about myself falling on this steep, rough trail badly in need of repair. Why would anyone want to do this? I thought then. 

Today, I couldn’t imagine backpacking without two poles. And yes, the quiet wonder of everything that is here. 

When hypothermia sets in, your brain shuts down, your mind retreats inside yourself. A few hours up the trail and Pat is cold. I think of the hikers on Lafayette with cotton tee shirts and shorts.  

We pause for lunch for Pat to warm up and all of us to put on an extra layer. Devour bits of chicken from last night’s feast.

Up the trail, glistening pellets of fresh Moose poop. Moose up here, what another wonder.  I’ve yet to see one since moving up here to the North Country.  They are disappearing due to ticks moving up this way in the warmer weather. I’ve heard stories of them being found covered in thousands of ticks that suck their blood and strength.  

From the one moose I have seen hiking, I know they are elusive, still and quiet and out there watching.  They can’t see well but can hear and smell.  Smell uslong before they ever see us. I see them out there smelling us now, standing so still, so quiet we mistake them for trees.  

This is not the hike we would have chosen, the sun promising to be as elusive as the moose this next week. And I’m glad we are out here today, despite the weather. You could miss the Whites if you waited for the sun, its one of the cloudiest regions in the country.  

The trail continues dark, cold, increasingly steep. We grunt and groan (or is that me grunting and groaning), hoisting ourselves up on the next boulder, pulling ourselves up by tree roots rubbed smooth by so many hands. The trail detours around downed trees that have been down for a long time. Water pools in the trail. Ahead, yet another tree over the trail. Neither Jen nor I notice it and bang our heads hard. I swear loudly. She falls backwards. 

Whatever was the top, we missed it in the fog and rain and after a short descent arrive at the Eliza Brook Shelter. The old dark one that Dad and I had stayed in has been replaced by this bright new lean-to. 

As we boil water and prepare for dinner (Lasagna with Meat Sauce, serves 2, 75% of your daily sodium, 850 calories – Perfect!) we are joined by two young through-hiking brothers.  Marsha is delighted that they too are wearing bright yellow dishwashing gloves like she’s had on all day. Perfect for this kind of weather, they all agree. 

The brothers are continuing down to Franconia Notch this late afternoon – another 9 miles. As for us, we can’t imagine another step and prepare for bed. Instructions to sleep with our heads toward the outside, “The mice run around the edges.” Promises of screams if mice in fact do run over our heads. Shy confessions of snoring. Silent vows to wop them awake if they do.  

I loved today, everything about it. Yes, even this “shitty trail” as the young hikers christen it.  It’s a comfort to hear that they too found it hard!

Why on a day of hard and cold and yes sometimes just wet and miserable, a shitty trail and a hard ascent do I love it so here? How happy I was walking out front, friends chattering behind. Glowing wet leaves as we pass.  

One more trip to filter water before turning to bed.

There, under the log, a lady slipper. The first of the day.