Two more NH 4000′ers are definitely on deck: Wildcat and Cabot. Wildcat is the target for this years Flags on the 48 hike. Cabot is the target for a North Country “hookie hike” with my friend Gary. We started this little tradition a couple of years ago: take a day off from work and go hike a new summit together. So far we’ve done North and South Hancock, East Osceola and Jefferson. This year will be Cabot, via The Bulge and The Horn and Unknown Pond.

I’d also like to bag another Presidential peak. Both Madison and Monroe are still unclimbed by me.

Next on the list is an ultrasound for her gall bladder, more blood tests and an appointment with a cardiologist.

Today, I picked up The Dharma Bums and have torn through the first 13 chapters already. I’m thoroughly enjoying this book. The fact that the first few chapters details Kerouac’s, via Ray Smith, climb up Matterhorn Peak in California’s High Sierra helps quite a bit.

My reasons for turning to The Dharma Bums have to do with Kerouac’s penchant for writing about his life, the Legend, and that a very interesting piece from Desolation Angels makes references to the stories contained within The Dharma Bums. The piece in question is copied here, written when Kerouac served as a lookout in a fire tower on Desolation Peak in Washington State in 1956, the year before his seminal On the Road was published (More info):

Desolation #45

Then comes the last day of desolation — “with wings as swift as meditation” the world pops back into place as I wake up (or “as swift as the thoughts of love”) — The old bacon rind is still out in the yard where the chipmunkies have been pecking and pippling at it all week showing their sweet little white bellies and sometimes standing stiff in trance — Weird yawking birds and pigeons have come and rifled my blueberries clean off the grass — creatures of the air feeding from fruits of the grass, as’s foretold — my blueberries, it’s their blueberries — every bite I took was a watermelon less in their larder — I b’reaved them of twelve trainloads — the last day on Desolation, it’ll be easy enough to crack and crack — Now I go to Abomination and whores yelling for hot water — It all goes back to Jarry Wagner, my being here, showing me how to climb mountains (Matterhorn in the crazy Fall of 1955 when everybody on North Beach was wailing with tense religious beat and beatific excitement culminating dismally in Rosemarie’s suicide, a story already told in this Legend) — Jarry, as I say, showing me how to buy a rucksack, poncho, down sleepingbag, camp cook kit and take off for the hills with trail rations of raisins and peanuts in a bag — my bag with the inside rubber and so the second to last night in Desolation as I take a few bites out of it for meager dessert it, the rubbery peanut raisin taste, brings back the whole flood of reasons that took me to Desolation and the Mountains, the whole idea we worked out together on long hikes concerning a “rucksack revolution” with all over America “millions of Dharma Bums” going up to the hills to meditate and ignore society O Ya Yoi Yar give me society, give me the beauteous-faced whores with lumpy-muscle shoulders full of rich fat and thick pearly cheeks their hands down between their skirts and bare feet (ah the dimpled knees and yea the dimples in the ankle) yelling “AguaCaliente” to the madam, their dress straps falling over clear halfway down their arms so’s one pressed breast shows almost out, the lunge power of nature, and you see the little fleshy corner of the thigh where’t meets the underknee and you see the darkness going under — Not that Jarry would deny this, but enough! enough of rocks and trees and yalloping y-birds! I wanta go where there’s lamps and telephones and rumpled couches with women on them, where there’re rich thick rugs for toes, where the drama rages all unthinking for after all would That-Which-Passes-Through-Everything ask for one or the other? — What’m I gonna do with snow? I mean real snow, that gets like ice in September so’s I can no longer crunch it in my pails — I’d rather undo the back straps of redheads dear God and roam the redbrick walls of perfidious samsara than this rash of rugged ridge full of bugs that sing in harmony and mysterious earth rumbles — Ah sweet enough the afternoon naps I took i’ the grass, in Silence, listening to the radar mystery — and sweet enough the last sunsets when at last I knew they were the last, dropping like perfect red seas behind the jagged rocks — No, Mexico City on a Saturday night, yea in my room with chocolates in a box and Boswell’s Johnson and a bed-lamp, or Paris on a Fall afternoon watching children and the nurses in the windblown park with the iron fence and old rimed monument — yea, Balzac’s grave — In Desolation, Desolation is learned, and ‘t’s no desolation there beneath the fury of the world where all is secretly well –

I did add some new peaks to the list: three of the MA 3000′ers and the Catskills 3500′ers.

Last week’s rains left the trail a wet mess, especially the lower sections. There were quite a few mud pools in the trail and run-off streams crossing the trail and one section in particular was a full-fledged stream. All that mud and water on my boots caused me to slip on a rock while crossing a small cascade, but I was able to catch myself at the cost of wrenching my shoulder a bit.

Overall, though, the trail is a treat and one of the easier ones in the Whites. The grade was easy and there were several switchbacks on the way up that kept it from getting steep. The footing was moderate, even without all the water and mud. There were tons of rocks on the lower sections and sloped granite faces on the upper elevations. In between, though, were nice wooded walks with nice views between the trees looking southeast toward Mount Tecumseh and Sandwich Dome.

The summit proper is wooded. However, walking past the summit will bring you to a bare granite ledge with wide open 180° views ranging from Mount Washington in the distant northeast to nearby Mount Tecumseh the southeast. In between were views to East Osceola, North and South Hancock, Carrigain, the Tripyramids and Chocorua with Passaconaway and Whiteface peeking out from behind the closer ridgelines.

The views on this day were very, very good. There was a bit of haze off toward the horizon and there were very few clouds around. The weather overall was humid, but no oppressively so. Temps were very warm, but there was also a very cool breeze to take the edge off. An excellent hiking day all around as long as you brought enough water.

The guide book gives a time of 2:40 to gain the summit via the Mount Osceola Trail. Chuck and I started our hike at 9:00 and reached the summit at 11:15, a full 25 minutes ahead of book time. Even with the humidity, we only stopped twice: one quick water break and one snack break about mid-way up. After a 45 minute stay at the top, we returned to the parking lot at 2:00, a two hour descent which included another break at the same place we took our snack break on the way up.

When Chuck and I hit the summit, I offered the possibility of hiking the ridge to East Osceola and back, in case he wanted to bag another 4000′er. He declined, and I have to say, after seeing the steep ups and downs of the ridge, I was rather grateful. I’d already bagged that peak last year anyway.

Neither of us brought digital cameras with us. My 5yo Sony died. I did bring binoculars with me and I used them to see if I could spot other hikers on other peaks. The north slide of North Tripyramid was too far away to see any details, but I was able to scan the eastern ridge line of East Osceola and spot a blue t-shirted hiker who was enjoying the views from an outlook that Gary and I checked out last year when we hiked it. I as also able to see the observation tower on Carrigain from several miles away.

The climb up Osceola is my 26th NH 4000′er. I have 22 more to go to complete the list.

Speaking of lists, I have redo my peak bagging list.

Goddamnit!!! I am so pissed off right now. I had to scour the ‘net for some of the data that I had in that document.

WordPress, your time is up. Now, I am determined to be rid of you, you steaming, stinking pile.

I was going to deploy it to my Effluency site tonight, but I developed the viewer locally on my MacBook Pro using the beginnings of Crucible, the homemade development environment I was building. Crucible relies on two folders: “public” and “private”, where “public” is the site root and contains the public scripts and other publicly accessible files and “private” contains the site’s libraries, private scripts and template code. My current WordPress installation is in one monolithic folder.

I made some adjustments to the basic folder structure by shoving all of the WordPress files and folders into a new “public” folder and making that folder the site’s root. We’ll see how it goes. If you can read this, I guess it worked.

In the words of General Ferdinand Foch, commander of the French 9th Army during the Battle of the Marne, 1914:

“Hard pressed on my right. My center is yielding. Impossible to maneuver. Situation excellent. I am attacking.”

A couple of weeks ago, my wife asked me what I wanted for Father’s Day. Now, I’m not a “Hallmark Holiday” kind of guy, so after a moment’s thought I said, “I want to go out to an early breakfast and go on a family hike.” After my wife asked me where I would like to hike, I said, “Pack Monadnock Mountain“. Pack Monadnock is in Miller State Park in New Hampshire. There is an auto road that goes to the top. We’ve been there quite a few times, but we’ve never hiked up. Now would be our chance.

Since the weather report for Sunday wasn’t looking too good, we decided to do our Father’s Day thing on Saturday instead. That was better because it also allowed us to get into a restaurant for breakfast without battling the Father’s Day crowds. So we got to Cracker Barrel at around 6:30am and had our breakfast. I had scrambled eggs w/cheese, bacon, sourdough toast w/jam and coffee. It was excellent.

From there, we drove to Peterborough, NH and pulled into the lower parking lot for Pack Monadnock. After my wife used the facilities at the trailhead, facilities that were so scary she said I’d be better off going in the woods if I had to, we started off. Immediately, we were met with a choice: taking the Wapack Trail or the Marion Davis Trail. I didn’t have my guide book with me, but I remembered that one of them was only slightly more steep and difficult so it wasn’t going to matter much either way. I chose the Wapack Trail because of its history.

The trail was not too difficult at all. The most difficult part was right after it crossed the auto road. Once we crossed the road, it became steep and rocky, typical New England mountain stuff. At first, I was worried about how my 7½ year old son would deal with it, but he loved it. He just used his hands and knees and just climbed and climbed. My wife was quite overprotective at first, barking out safety instructions as we were going along, but she relaxed a bit more as the trail levelled off and moved away from some of the sheer drops and edges.

The trail to the top is 1.4 miles and we made the summit in 70 minutes. As we got ¾ of the way up, my son started to get tired. While my wife and son rested, I went ahead to see how far away we were. On a previous driving trip, I had hiked part way down to see how difficult the trail was. We were now in a familiar section, so I knew we were close. So, I quickened my pace and made the top in about 5 or so minutes. After dropping my pack near the top, I trotted back down and met them again about 3 or minutes later. From there, we all hiked to the top.

The weather was nice, if not perfect. It was about 10:10 and the sun’s heat was starting up. It was also shaping up to be a humid day as well, but the mountaintop did have a nice cooling breeze blowing across it. Unfortunately, it was also a hazy day out, which affected the view. The southeastern viewpoint from the summit features a view of the Boston skyline 90 or so miles away, but the haze blocked it completely. Even the view to Mount Monadnock 11 miles to the west was affected.

My son was quite proud of himself, and I along with him, for making it all the way to the top. This was my son’s first mountain hike and he did wonderfully. He seemed to enjoy himself most of the time, although he was relieved when we made it back down.

For the descent we took the auto road. It is a shorter route, but it is also steeper. Plus, walking on angled pavement is not as easy as using rocks as steps on the way down. The pavement doesn’t give the way dirt does and walking downhill on such an angle really stretches the tops of your ankles and thighs. It was a shorter route though; we made it down in 35 minutes.

When we got within sight of the parking lot, I handed my pack to my wife and put my son on my shoulders. At 50+ lbs, I won’t be doing that for much longer, but I wanted to give him a reward of sorts. He’s been going through some mental growing pains lately. He’s leaving 1st grade and has been feeling sad about leaving teachers behind. He’s also been missing all the constant hugs and cuddles and all the times we used to constantly pick him from when he was younger.

On our hikes in Harold Parker State Forest in Andover or in the Wendell Brook State Forest from when he was a toddler, I used to carry him on my shoulders from time to time. On one such hike in Harold Parker, when he was 2 or so, he was sitting on my shoulders as we walked through the woods. He sang one of his first songs to me, perched up there, and I taught him some songs as we walked along and we took turns singing them. One song we sang was “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding and I will always remember that hike whenever I hear that song.

And so, putting my son on my shoulders and walking back to the car after his first mountain hike, it was a way of linking the past and the present for me. One door closes and another opens. He’s no longer a baby, nor even a toddler. He’s a boy, growing tall and strong and smart right before my eyes.

I pray to God that we will have many more hikes together, that he grows older with the love and respect for nature that I learned from my father.