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Last Day on the Road

After 7 hot hours, I made it from the village to the lodge. It was much more comfortable, not to mention faster, to be walking without a tent or pad or several days' worth of food.

I slept like a baby last night. No matter how I try, there's just no way I feel as secure in a tent as I do in a place like a cabin with a lock on the door.

I decided to spend some of my fast-dwindling cash supply on a really, really good breakfast. I went to Dube's Pittstop (yes, an extra T), where the lone waitress was cheerfully attending to a nearly-full house. I ordered my plateful of food along with coffee & OJ, and then heard a cheerful greeting from the next table. I looked over and there was Armand Buteau, sitting with 5 or 6 buddies over coffee. A small town, indeed.

When I finished up, I bought a couple of bottles of some kind of flavored non-carbonated water-type stuff (couldn't they just carry Gatorade??). Armand called out “May it all be downhill.” Surely, there's no finer farewell for a hiker! We were laughing as I stepped outside for the last leg of the trip.

I took Rt. 145, & when I got to Clarksville Pond Rd., I took one look down Old County Road & decided to stay on 145 until Creampoke Road. When I got to the 45th Parallel marker, I hung my hat on its corner and propped my pack & trekking pole against the sign's support pole & then took a picture. It occurred to me then that I should have been using that hat as a photographic prop throughout the trip.

145 climbs a bit leaving Pittsburg and heading through Clarksville. I cheered when I got to the little signs warning trucks to use low gear, knowing that meant a downhill stretch coming right up. On Creampoke Road's long eastward run, a truck slowed down beside me & the driver said “Didn't I see you in Pittsburg this morning?” Darned if it wasn't one of Armand's breakfast companions! We went our separate ways after a brief cheerful chat.

I packed 40 ounces of drinks & should have packed more. I packed 3 energy bars, & I could have done with one. Solid food seemed an unnecessary distraction.

After turning from Creampoke to Haines Hill Road which becomes McAllaster, I came to a fork that puzzled me. There was a logging cut on the left with a path through it, and a path like a snowmobile trail off to the right. I remembered going past a logged area when I came up here, but I hadn't seen the fork from that direction. I used the 10-minute rule that has served me well on the trip, and I didn't even need the full 10. About 3 minutes of walking into the log yard showed me a dead end on a little knoll.

Suddenly, I heard my phone buzzing. That little hill brought me into cell range. I was receiving a text my daughter had sent the night before. I texted her back with an update on my location.

Out of the logging yard, onto the other path, out of cell range: right back where I belonged. I was definitely heading SSW, close enough to south to be reassuring. The path gradually widened. I came around a curve and saw a massive tree down across the road. Suddenly, I remembered the tree from my northbound walk, and I knew where I was. The tree had been leaning over the road quite precariously when I last saw it. Once past the tree, I recognized the farm ahead, and soon I reached Bear Rock Road. The route was a piece of cake from there, with nothing ahead but signed town roads.

Coleman State Park was just a mile away from my goal, and I was more than ready for water when I got there. The park was nearly deserted. I dropped my pack & trekking pole on a picnic table & made a beeline for the nearest faucet. I filled my bottle & drank it straight down, savoring shade & water. A faint cell signal let me text my family that I was nearly done. My daughter sent a joyous message back a few moments later. In the patchy world of cell phone service in Coos County, there's a faint signal at Coleman and no signal at all at the lodge a mile away.

Twenty minutes later, I was at Sportsman's Lodge. I let Roger know I was back, told him I needed no dinner service, and went straight upstairs for a shower & some rest. I felt utterly exhilarated.

We've had a good evening here, watching the Sox game. Linda has returned from her trip. Corey, a neighbor whom I met at last year's CT gathering, greeted me like an old friend & wanted to hear about the hike. We all chatted, criticized our pitcher (Buchholz tonight), & put up with dogs & cats vying for attention. I called it a night after 5 or 6 innings, as did Corey.

My inventory of bodily damage from this escapade actually amounts to a short list.
Blisters: healing.
Toes: A few discolored toenails. Nothing I haven't seen before.
Sunburn: during one stop along the way today, I was alarmed to see little blisters in patches on my shins. I've got sunburn over sunburn. I didn't bother with sunscreen today because I figured I'd only sweat it off within the hour. I now have a painful reminder to USE it hourly, if necessary. I intend to lecture my kids about this. (They'll ignore me. At their age, I didn't want to hear it, either.)
Left knee: An arthritic joint, to be sure, now sore to the point where I need a pillow under it when I lie down. Nothing new. Naproxen & rest will help.

Tomorrow: laundry, reading, review my photos, and maybe do some kayaking (with lots of sunscreen) on Big Diamond Pond. The day after that, my husband will be here to pick me up and get his first look at the area.

Let's see: 17 to 19 miles for today, depending on the relative accuracy of Google Maps & my own calculations. Actual one-way CT mileage from lodge to border, including spurs to lodging, & including 2 miles between Coleman SP & Tumble Dick Notch, comes to 51 miles. That excludes the work on the trails with Lainie, since it was road walking on Rt. 3 that got me to the border. These calculations are for the benefit of all those people in my life who will only want to know how far – how many – how long. It all amounts to 85 miles in 8 days of walking, if anyone asks.

It's been three years from idea to fruition for this trip. From here, right now, it seems that it all went by in a flash.

Celebrating An International Trail

(Pictured above, celebrating the CT's connection with the trails of Sentiers Frontaliers: Kim Nilsen of the CT Association, Gloriane Blais of SF, and Richard Andersen of the International Appalachian Trail.)

I saw a magnificently starry night last evening through the mesh of my tent. Awesome, in the original sense. It occurred to me this is the first time on the trip I've seen such a clear night sky. I've fallen asleep too early most nights, & it's been cloudy on some others. I'll treasure the memory of last night's view, with so many more stars than I can ever see at home. I started identifying constellations, but quickly decided to forget that. I just stared up at the sky like a kid, with a silly grin on my face. I couldn't even articulate a prayer of thanks beyond “...this is soooooo cool.”

Pete & Lainie picked me up at 8:25 this morning, accompanied by Kim Nilsen, who first came up with the whole idea of a Cohos Trail. Today's official celebration of the joining of the CT with a Canadian trail is something he's wanted to see for a long time.

The press conference turned out to be quite an event, with a wonderfully festive tone. About 70 people were there. Half were hikers, there to begin a 6-day hike arranged & sponsored by Sentiers Frontaliers. Of course, every Canadian there was bilingual, while we few Americans were trapped in English. There were no NH or US VIPs, but our hosts welcomed a mayor & a prefect & provincial deputies. So now we have an international trail!

I have taken my trip during the year's first official heat wave. Here at Robie's Cabins, back in the land of cable TV, channel 9 is reporting that Nashua hit 96 today. I know I had two mighty hot days on Rt. 3 yesterday & the day before. Today, I've been driven everywhere, so the temperature hasn't affected me much.

Here in Pittsburg village, I'm in a comfortable little unit. I'm catching up on news & sports & weather on the aforementioned cable TV. There's a DVD player & a selection of discs, and I've picked one out for the evening. I'll be able to call home tonight. I've hand-washed the bulk of my laundry, & pieces are draped here & there to dry. I shipped off the tent & assorted gear at the post office down the street. This has been a pretty productive afternoon.

Channel 9 forecasts storms tonight. That should break the heat for now. Ive decided to put in however many miles it takes to get all the way back to Sportsman's. I'll get a good breakfast at the diner up the street, and then I'll be off. I've already called Roger at the lodge to tell him I'm coming in a day early. I'm eager to get going. As my husband would say, I can smell the barn.

Fourth Lake & A Glimpse of Quebec

The day was indeed uncomplicated, & sleep was untroubled until the first logging truck roared onto the dirt road just across from my campsite at 5 a.m. I've changed sites for tonight.

I woke up to find everything in the tent damp from condensation. Very unpleasant, but not surprising. This muggy weather stays overnight, even though the heat takes a break for a few hours. Tonight, I'll cram into a plastic garbage bag all items that will fit.

The heat really took a lot out of me today. I was such a sweaty mess when I got back from the border that I got cleaned up & changed as soon as I returned to camp, even though the day was far from over. T-shirt & shorts & the indispensable socks are hanging to dry after a good rinse in spring water.

I MADE IT!!! I reached the northern end of the Cohos Trail. I crossed into Canada long enough to enjoy a snack on the hill overlooking Chartierville. I got here with NO northbound shuttles past Sportsman's Lodge, on my own two blistered feet, through rain & heat & pavement & rocks & weeds. I did it, I did it, I did it. I'm 50 years old, and I've just had a dream come true that would never have occurred to me at 40. And I have had so much fun in the process that it's just plain ridiculous.

Amid all this lofty prose, the tent ceiling is drooping AGAIN. That'll keep me humble.

I'm not sure when Pete & Lainie will pick me up tomorrow for the event celebrating the joining of the CT with the Sentiers Frontaliers trail network. I should be able to strike camp quickly. I don't have to be neat about it; it'll all get thrown in the back of Pete's truck.

Conditions for today's hike were the same as yesterday's, & the moose are still avoiding Rt. 3 in the heat of the day.

As I passed Third Lake, a coyote howled over & over from somewhere on the other side. I heard a loon somewhere out there as well. These were the only sounds – no traffic at those moments.

The border crossings were quick & uneventful. I stopped on the US side to confirm that I could get back in with my passport. I then walked to Canadian customs, stopping to photograph the boundary monument. At the Canadian station, I discovered – oh, the letdown! The disappointment! - that they had no need to stamp my passport. The document therefore still looks unused. Stamp or not, though, I couldn't have entered Canada or returned to the US without it. Glad I brought it. Upon seeing my lunch bag & my trekking pole, and probably getting a whiff of my unshowered body as well, the agent nodded at my request to cross over for a short walk. Quick, courteous, reasonable: my kind of border crossing.

I had been told that it's amazing to cross into Quebec from NH because of the abrupt change from forest to farmland. Turns out that's absolutely true. The view from the border is really quite striking: Rt. 3 becomes Rt. 257, and it heads straight north to Chartierville, 3 miles away – downhill all the way in one gentle rolling drop after another. The day was too hazy for any good photo of this scene. Little town, lots of farmland, lots of signs in French: welcome to Quebec.

I decided after seeing that downhill road that I was not going to check out Chartierville. The trip back would have been time-consuming and, quite frankly, a drain on my legs, and I still had 4th Lake on the day's agenda. Instead, I found a picnic area in a small meadow just past the border station, with three shaded picnic tables & a tourist kiosk & view to the north. I took out my water & my snack & enjoyed my 15 minutes of international travel right there.

The meadow was full of energetic cedar waxwings, flying from trees to meadow to picnic tables in search of worms or insects or whatever it is they live on. The heat wasn't slowing them down a bit. They kept me quite entertained, though I was too slow to get good pictures. I never knew they could hover, but hover they did when examining a promising patch of ground.

Back to the USA. I told the agent I wanted to go on the 4th Connecticut Lake trail, and he waved me toward it. Within about 2 minutes, I was very glad I hadn't gone to Chartierville & back. This little trail went up a few hundred feet in seven-tenths of a mile. One of the photos attached to this post shows the view down to the border station from about halfway up the trail. Wherever it wasn't rocky, it was muddy. I needed the trekking pole, especially on the way down. But ... I got there! Fourth Lake is a peaceful, unassuming little bog. It's a marvel to think of the lakes I've seen on this trip all starting out here.

The walk back to camp in the afternoon was anticlimactic. I was hot & lethargic, & I went through my water much too fast. There's a little unmarked pullout at 3rd Lake where small boats can put in. I stopped there to sit by the shore & cool off for awhile. I soaked my bandanna in the chilly water & then tied it around my neck. Heavenly. (That bandanna has been really good to have on this trip.) A couple from Florida sat nearby with their 3 dogs. The largest of the 3 was Mick, a boisterous creature who liked chasing his little Frisbee into the water. With the owners' OK, I tossed the toy into the lake again & again, & Mick splashed right in to retrieve it & dog-paddle back to shore for another round. He would shake off cold water all over me after every retrieval. I loved it.

Once back at camp, the first order of business was moving to a new campsite. I'm now just a stone's throw away from the ranger's office & house. I'll bet logging trucks don't wake HIM up at 5. I'm closer to the latrine, too, but that's a mixed blessing.

Relocated & freshened up by 3:30 in the afternoon, I dropped onto my sleeping pad & slept for an hour. A breeze blowing through the tent was a big help. When I woke up, I felt thoroughly refreshed, though really hungry. I put a good dent in the contents of the bear box, washing it all down with water. Delightful.

It's 7:30 p.m. now, & I miss having a book, & I'm picturing my family watching Jeopardy. Today's reading material has consisted of tourist brochures too bland to keep as souvenirs. If I can't read, I can write, & this keeps me occupied in camp.

Ooohh, I can feel the air mucking up again. Tent fly off, mesh wide open: let's hope that keeps the humidity at bay.

NH's Northernmost Park

I figured I'd be out for six hours today, & I was right. That includes stops. I scurried out this morning without much breakfast, and I paid for that later, as 5 minutes' thought would have warned me. No matter. I'm here, at Deer Mountain State Park, 5 miles from Canada.

It took half an hour to walk from the Bungalow down to Rt. 3. I stopped at a store a little north of Happy Corner – Treats & Treasures, I think – to buy (& drink on the spot) a bottle of Gatorade. I knew I'd need the calories as well as the fluid. At 2nd Lake dam, about 2/3 of the way to Deer Mountain, I stopped for about 20 minutes because my no-breakfast decision caught up with me. I nibbled on a Powerbar & drank some water, then nibbled some more as a few minutes' rest revived me. I lay on the grass in the shade, leaning against my backpack, feeling better by the minute. The spray from the dam was a treat.

Route 3 was hot & shadeless at midday. I saw no moose – not a one – though to be fair, any self-respecting moose spent today by a shady brook.

It's the end of a summer weekend. I saw a fair number of out-of-state plates. Lots of day trippers came north with their kayaks, I presume for East Inlet. I saw so many motorcyclists that I worried they were all headed to Deer Mountain to camp, leaving me without a site. They weren't, meaning they must have been Quebecois heading home.

I stopped at a spring on the roadside a bit north of 2nd Lake. While I was filling my bottles with that wonderful cold water, two people drove up to fill a pair of five-gallon jugs. They're regulars here. They caught me up on the forecast for the next couple of days, and it sounds good, meaning no rain.

Humid, sticky day. I've been disappointed about not being able to hike up Magalloway, but that doesn't bother me so much now. This may sound like sour grapes, but it's been so muggy & hazy the past few days that visibility from the fire tower must be lousy.

There's a soft breeze coming on, & the sun is becoming less harsh. Families are pulling into camp to claim their spaces. I saw the reservation sheet, and at least 2 sites have been rented for the week, starting today.

My campsite is right on Moose Flowage, as the Connecticut River is known in this stretch. I love the sound of the water, & while the site is buggy, I have DEET. Good enough. I actually have a couple of spots I can go to get away from the bugs. One is here, at the 2-table picnic area right out front on Rt. 3, beside the campground's flagpole. The pole sports the most faded NH flag I have ever seen, and a somewhat less beaten-up American flag. Maybe a VIP coming to the SF/CT press conference Tuesday will be moved to spring for new ones.

ALMOST there. Third & Fourth Connecticut Lakes are just a few miles away. My goals tomorrow are to get to 4th Lake and thus reach the current northern terminus of the CT, and to get over the border long enough to get my passport stamped. Lainie pointed out that bringing my backpack through Canadian customs, as I had planned to do, would be a headache. She's right. I'll try for the border tomorrow while my heavy equipment stays here.

The park attendant says the spring water here is fine, and I believe him. He looks hydrated enough. He also said my bear canister was OK but probably not necessary; he hasn't had a bear pester anyone here for 3 years. Fine. Let's make it 4. I'm using the canister. It'll foil the raccoons, at any rate.

I'm sponging down my aching feet with my bandanna soaked in cool spring water. Ahhhh. The daily routine has been to soak my feet in cold water after a long day, dry them off, and put fresh padding around the nearly-healed blisters. (Lesson #1 from this trip: keep your feet dry at all costs.) That's working well. My left knee was the day's chief troublemaker. After 13 miles, it's entitled to protest - just not for long.

A pair of hummingbirds entertained me for awhile when I arrived. I can hear plenty of other birds with unfamiliar songs. Sunburn & all, it's been a glorious Sunday. This really is a lovely little piece of God's creation.

Snug and dry as this tent was at Lake Francis, I'm still annoyed that I am never able to pitch it tight enough to keep the already-low roof from drooping. Also, I'm on a platform, and I'm still figuring out the best way to pitch and guy out my nonfreestanding tent. This trip is, among other things, a learning experience.

I can hear voices from nearby sites only faintly. I'm far from other sites but actually close to Rt. 3.

I've walked a fair chunk of the Cohos Trail. No one can ever take this away from me. I've also had some wonderful encounters with other people, & no one can ever take that away from me, either. This relatively inexperienced hiker is on top of the world.

For all the concerns expressed by family & friends as I prepared to take this trip, the most dangerous part of my walk so far was probably today, walking along Rt. 3. Drivers were very friendly as they zipped past me in their fast little cars. But here I am, thank God, with no injuries but the ones I've inflicted on myself. My feet really do look like a podiatrist's nightmare.

My husband wondered how I'd get by without reading material. He knows me well. I brought a magazine with me on the trip, and I decided to leave it at the Bungalow for the next occupants. I dropped every little thing I could spare to cut the pack's weight, & I'm glad I did. But oh, I could go for something to read right now!

This trip is over the hump, & my husband & kids & home are coming in sight. It'll be good to see them again. As soon as I get back home, it'll be time to help my daughter pack for her departure to UNH. That seems awfully close now.

It's nearly dark, and I've written enough. God grant me untroubled sleep & an uncomplicated day for tomorrow! It now occurs to me that "uncomplicated" probably means I should leave my prescription meds here tomorrow. I don't know how they'd be received at the border in their pill box without the prescription bottle. Border crossings require thought, even for hikers, times being what they are.

My First Old Home Day

I'm very happy I made a point of being in town for Old Home Day, even though it extended my stay at the Bungalow. (My dad used to say that fish & company stink after 3 days, and I've been here for four & a half.) From the parade to the lunch on the town green, it was all fun.

Pete got a call just a few days ago, requesting that he march with the North Country Community Band in the parade. Thus I learned that Pete plays cornet – and not badly, either. He says he doesn't play often nowadays. But there he was in the parade, with about 20 other musicians. It takes people from 4 or 5 towns to make up this little band.

Floats abounded, many of them pulled by tractors. There was that Pittsburg HS baseball team, waving to the crowd & tossing candy to the kids. Sign on their float: “We told you we'd be back.” Loved it. There were one or two politically-themed floats; let's just say this isn't Obama country. Beecher Falls & Colebrook sent fire trucks to augment Pittsburg's little contingent. They were all noisy & flashy, as fire trucks in a parade should be.

I think the entire town (population 800) came out, along with plenty of folks from neighboring towns. Pittsburg's 4th of July festivities were rained out, I heard, and everyone seemed determined to make up for that.

After the parade, the town green was filled with tents & booths & food & games. I had a pulled-pork meal at one of the tents, and every bite was a tribute to God's providence (so THAT'S what pigs are for!) -- even the cole slaw, of which I'm not usually a fan. I had to check out the book sale table. It had maybe 50 books, most of them romances. Nope. I had better luck at the bake sale table, where I found brownies nearly as good as my son's, and his are awesome.

I walked to the south end of Main Street to photograph the last of the town's 3 covered bridges. I stopped at Robie's Cabins to confirm my reservation for Tuesday night, & the proprietors, Mr. & Mrs. Dion, showed me where I'd be staying. Amazing day, and a fascinating look at a town very different from my own. I'd never have had this without the Cohos Trail.

Except for my breakfast & my water bottle, I've packed everything to move on to Deer Mountain SP in the morning. Tomorrow will be the last day with a full pack. Leaving the park on Tuesday, Lainie & Pete will drive me first to the border and then to the village. On Wednesday, I'll mailing home my tent & pad. Goodbye, dead weight.

Now, it's back to the village for fireworks at Murphy Dam to cap off the day.

East Inlet

My bungalow room is 85º, if the thermometer on the wall is to be believed. I'm sitting in what is more or less the living room, kitchen windows open, table fan blowing at top speed. I packed for cooler weather. We're getting 90º days & mid-60º nights.

I am nursing sunburned legs after an unforgettable kayak trip. About me & kayaks: I don't own one. I rent or borrow one on rare occasions, for use on some nice flat body of water. I avoid embarrassment only by traveling alone. Today, I put aside my reluctance to look like a fool, just because I wanted to see East Inlet from the water, not from a few glimpses off East Inlet Road.

At the East Inlet Road boat launch, Pete, Lainie, & I put ourselves in Armand's capable hands. An easygoing man with a dry wit, Armand knows this area well. He brought a kayak for each of us, so no one was subjected to tandem-kayaking with me.

I was candid with everyone about my relative inexperience. No matter how awkward or downright wrong my paddling style became, Armand never raised his voice except to call out something encouraging. I suppose that's what guides are supposed to do, but since I never took a guided trip before, I was relieved not to be taken to task by a stern local with no patience for out-of-towners who can't paddle a boat properly.

The area we were in has several names, each referring to a specific spot, and I'm not sure which ones we were in: Norton Pool, Moose Pasture, East Inlet. We went across a big pond and then into a narrow stream that wound in what to me seemed like a hopeless maze through the trees. All beautiful, regardless of name. Eventually, it all empties into 2nd Lake.

The blazingly sunny day was moderated by a breeze on the water. We paddled out with the wind but against the current, and came home with the current but against the wind. I found paddling upwind to get back across the big pond much easier than trying to push through an opening in a breached beaver dam, against the current. (I believe that maneuver took me five minutes, compared to the 10 seconds or so achieved by each of my companions.)

I told Pete that he had the best free show in town as he paddled behind me, watching me maneuver clumsily but persistently around the many curves. We had the maze to ourselves. When we first hit the pond on the way back, we saw one kayak after another heading out. Armand remarked that most of the people heading onto the pond would probably not continue into the stream – certainly not as far upstream as we went. Their loss.

I was able to paddle very close to a great blue heron too intent on fishing to pay any attention to me. I saw a bald eagle, huge in comparison to the tiny bird harrying it up in the sky, probably defending her young against the eagle's depredations. I saw the eagle's nest. Geese, ducks, & cedar waxwings were abundant.

Kim Nilsen has written in the official CT guidebook about the never-cut stand of black spruce we saw today. Spruce budworm damaged the stand some years ago, but the trees rebounded & this one little area has somehow never been logged.

Perhaps today didn't count as hiking, but without my CT hike, I never would have found this place or the people who accompanied me. Much of this "hiking" trip, in fact, has been spent doing things other than hiking. I am loving almost all of it. I remain opposed to rainy hikes punctuated with insect stings.

The payment assessed by Lainie & Pete for use of the Bungalow is an unspecified monetary donation and/or some trail work. I am going to be donating more than I had originally budgeted. I tried to imagine the bill for everything if this were the “real” world: 5 nights' lodging, one road trip/moose tour, shuttles to the village, 1 load laundry, ATV ride to the summit of Prospect Mountain, and incidentals like a pair of boot insoles. Nothing but the lodging was expected.

Yes, insoles. I walked to Young's today, and for the first time in my 3 visits, they had a pair of padded insoles. I do mean a pair, just one, men's size. I snatched them up. When I got back to the Bungalow, I dropped into the swing on the lawn to catch my breath. Lainie got home from errands a few minutes later, and she spied me on the swing. “I have something for you!” she sang out, so I joined her at the house. From her shopping bag, she triumphantly produced a pair of insoles. I burst out laughing, and showed her the pair from my bag. She very sensibly compared them, and pronounced her pair lighter. She's right, and I accepted them with thanks.

A fine day, despite my stinging legs. I'm draping my damp laundry over my legs to cool the burn. Sunburn seems a fair price to pay for a day like this.