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.

Day Off

No travel scheduled today. I'm comfortably holed up in the Bungalow on a hot summer day, listening to the Sox game on the radio. My remaining blisters are freshly padded & bandaged. I've had time today to look at the field guide on the table in here, trying to identify some of the birds I've seen this week. I had a wonderful nap this afternoon, though it cost me a few innings of the game. I'm sorting and re-packing all my things. A lazy day, though not a wasted one.

The remainder of my trip is firming up. Tomorrow, we have our kayak trip. Saturday is Old Home Day down in the village. I'll catch a ride down with Pete & Lainie. Weather should be pushing 90 degrees, with no rain forecast for the weekend. The next day, I'll hike to Deer Mountain SP, where I'll stay for two nights. I'll hike to the Canadian border & 4th Connecticut Lake one of those days. Next Tuesday, there will be a press conference just over the border to celebrate the linking of the CT with the trail network of Sentiers Frontaliers (SF), a hiking group from Quebec's Eastern Townships. Pete & Lainie will pick me up at Deer Mountain, take me to the press conference, and then drive me to the village, where I have a place reserved for Tuesday night. Wednesday, if the weather's good, I'll get back to Sportsman's Lodge in one long haul, walking on Rt. 145 & Creampoke Road instead of the CT. Less favorable conditions will result in a break at Rudy's. Either way, I'll be finished ahead of my original schedule.

While I'm in the village, I'll mail home my tent & sleeping pad & whatever else I don't need to carry once I'm done camping. A light pack will help me get to Sportsman's in one day, as will sticking to town roads (longer route but smoother path). Light load + good weather = excessive optimism.

This is all sounding manageable. Setting my own pace (slow) and schedule (flexible) has worked.

Trail Work & Road Trip

The trouble with full days is that I get tired in the evenings when it's time to record the day's events. Not a bad problem to have. Today was tiring, but in total, quite satisfactory. My aching body is aching less each day, which is encouraging.

Today, I worked on a new segment of the CT, which we all hope can soon be formally dedicated. Pete dropped Lainie & me at Round Pond, where the proposed Round Pond Brook trail begins winding its way to Rt. 3. As of now, the CT is on Rt. 3 from River Rd. in Pittsburg to the Quebec border. Alternate routes & spurs are slowly being designed & approved. The RPB trail was flagged by CT volunteers last spring, and state approval is pending, with a walk-through by a state official needed eventually.

Lainie handed me a pair of loppers & told me to follow her & look for flagging tape. Within 10 minutes, Lainie realized that someone had come through & reflagged the trail on a slightly deviated route. Her GPS was only slightly helpful, but our compasses sure came in handy. I did very little lopping, but I helped get the trail's flags back where they belonged.

A problem that became obvious -- far more obvious on the Camp Otter Trail, where we worked in the afternoon – is that the flagging earlier in the year was done in the spring, before summer grasses grew several feet high. Some trail routes along snowmobile trails looked just lovely 4 months ago. Now, it's midsummer. Grasses & ferns & the aptly-named hobblebush have grown several feet high. The snowmobile clubs won't be working on the trails again until fall. The routes we checked today would pose a maintenance nightmare. Not an insoluble problem, to be sure, but a challenge.

We were on game trails when we weren't on snowmobile trails. I saw a bobcat track for the first time. We saw plenty of moose tracks, as well as a spot in the Camp Otter area that's obviously used by moose as a place to bed down. Bears left the most traces, though: prints, scat, more scat.

Camp Otter was an arduous couple of miles of slogging through mud & stumbling over long, tangled vegetation. This is the area where the trail association wants to put in 500' of badly-needed bog bridging. It started raining while we were there, but we were already so muddy we didn't care.

Undeterred by rain & mud, Lainie fed waypoints into her GPS, reflecting the improved trail route we flagged today. I became the first non-CT-board member to hike these segments. With breaks, it took us about 5 hours to walk/bushwhack/slog 4.1 miles. We felt like very wet pioneers when we were done.

We really were filthy by the time Pete picked us up on Magalloway Road & got us back to the house. Lainie was kind enough to put my muddy clothes along with hers right into her washing machine. Once I was cleaned up, I made a double batch of mac & cheese for a late lunch, and that simple little dish was perfect.

Later, with our laundry hanging to dry, Pete proposed a ride -- “bring your camera!” He & Lainie & I piled up into their beat-up but valiant truck, and off we went.

First stop, Young's, where everyone had things to pick up. Second stop: Moose Alley Cones, where I reveled quite messily in a double-scoop of chocolate moose-tracks ice cream. Good thing I'd bought paper towels at Young's.

We proceeded north on Rt. 3, the “Moose Alley” of all the tourist literature. We stopped at 2nd Connecticut Lake, at the boat ramp off the highway. We were the only people there. Once out of the car, I looked around in awe, overcome by profound silence. We were away from the dam at the lake's south end, so there was no sound of rushing water. At that moment, there was no bird's song or call, though Pete later said loons are frequently seen here. No aircraft overhead, no carloads of tourists, no boats or boat motors – a place & a moment of peace, with nothing in view but the lake & the spruce trees all around.

From there, we drove north a couple of miles to Deer Mountain State Park. This gave me a chance to scout my quarters for next Sunday & Monday nights. Pleasant spot, lots of trees, Connecticut River the size of a brook rushing down a stretch called Moose Flowage: all good. The attendant lives on-site; we're way beyond commuter territory. There's no rec building or any other community structure. About a third of the 20 or so sites were occupied, which confirmed my hope that a reservation & its fee would be unnecessary. As I expected, there's no electricity at the park. In fact, we'd left the last US utility lines behind us a few miles back. Pete tell me that our border station relies on Canadian utilities. The park also has no water supply aside from a single spring, piped up at a spot near the entrance.

Notes made & photos taken, I hopped back in the truck. We headed back south past 2nd Lake & turned east onto Magalloway Road. I noticed mile markers, and it turned out that all the back roads we were on last night had them. I suppose they're useful, as long as you don't expect to use a cell phone to summon help to your broken-down car at mile marker 3 on Magalloway Road. There is no, I mean NO, cell signal there.

These back roads, originally created by logging companies & still maintained in part by them, cut right through thick, thick woods. Spruce predominates. “Great North Woods” is no mere chamber of commerce conceit. We passed a number of small logging cuts that hardly put a dent in anything. The spruce all looked nearly black as the sun began to set.

At a fork we headed right, now on Buckhorn Road. There were camps (cabins) here & there, most of them looking neat & maintained. The sky to our right was beginning to take on beautiful tints & tones in the last of the day's light. This was when Lainie made the first remark about not seeing any moose yet. I'd been scanning the roadsides myself, and for all the beautiful sights, I didn't see any critters.

Another turn, and we were on Cedar Stream Road – the same Cedar Stream Road I'd found so boring a few days ago. We were miles farther east, though. This stretch was wilder, with fewer camps, and still no moose. We drove westward, & the full glory of the sunset was right in front of us. I could afford to enjoy it; I wasn't the one who had to drive into the glare.

At the intersection where I had veered off to the Bog Branch bridge & the Lake Francis trail a few days ago, Pete turned left onto the east end of Deadwater Loop Road where, to Lainie's delight, she & Pete saw a bear, although I missed it.

By the way, as we talked about the CT re-route through the Deadwater area, I remarked that I wished I had taken the road shown on the CT map as running on the north side of Lake Francis, providing a shortcut to LFSP. Pete set me straight. The map notwithstanding, that road peters out & does not reach the park. Good thing I hadn't tried that way.

Approaching the village now, we turned onto 145 and then Rt. 3. We were nearing the end of a giant loop seen by very few tourists.

We drove onto giant Murphy Dam – giant for these parts, anyway. Pete told me this is an earthen dam, built in the 1930s.

Back on Rt. 3, we passed the Pittsburg high school, which Pete says actually houses ALL grades. I'm going to get a picture of the building on Old Home Day next weekend so I can show my son the home of the class S baseball champs. Their tournament victory made the front page of my downstate newspaper a few weeks back -- a high school of 37 kids, with 14 of them on the team.

(As I write this, a small plane is passing overhead. That's unusual here.)

As we returned to Danforth Road after 3 unforgettable but mooseless hours, I said it would be funny if we drove over 40 miles & didn't see a moose until 200 yards before the driveway. I was off by just a bit. On the way up Danforth, there was our one & only moose, waiting for us as if hired. Our tour was complete.

At the End of a Much Better Day

Sun came out 9-ish this morning, so I had a chance to spread out the tent fly to dry. In the hour before things clouded up again, I enjoyed a walk along the lake shore before I came back to pack up my gear. Dry gear and a bit of sunshine did wonders for me.

Today's short hike brought me to the Mountain Bungalow, the CT's one & only hostel so far, located a few short miles away on Danforth Road in Pittsburg. It's on the property of Lainie & Pete, CT board members I met at last year's CT summer gathering. The Bungalow is going to be my home for a few days while I do some trail maintenance with Lainie and play tourist in Pittsburg. I've lived in NH for over 25 years, but northern Coos County is unfamiliar to me, and I want to see as much of it as I can while I'm here.

The walk up River Road to Rt. 3 (missing the little shortcut that's now part of the CT) leads to what the map calls Happy Corner. What's so happy about it? Check this out: Young's store, a great little restaurant, a covered bridge, AND the intersection with Danforth Road, all right there. (Oh, all right, I actually had to walk for 5 minutes to find the covered bridge. Don't be picky.)

Young's had the camp shoes I hoped for, lightweight & cheap. The Happy Corner Cafe next door served me a splendid lunch. Let me recommend the Corner Burger, piled with cheese, onions, mushrooms, & green peppers. Two tables over sat the family that camped at the site next to mine last night.

I headed up Danforth Road in a light drizzle, along the south slope of Prospect Mountain. (New Hampshire is littered with Prospect Mountains, I think, but this is the only one near Happy Corner.) Lainie & Pete are at the end of the road, a bit shy of the summit. Two moose, cow & calf, crossed the road ahead of me as I made my way up, but they were gone before I got my camera out.

I knew I'd found the right place when I got to a house with a sign proclaiming "Northern Headquarters of the Cohos Trail." By the time I got there, the sun was out, and we had a gorgeous afternoon. Pete & Lainie gave me a friendly greeting and showed me to the Bungalow. I have the whole place to myself; it can accommodate up to six people. No running water, but there are plenty of jugs I can fill from the main house. There is electricity. The kitchen is tiny but certainly adequate. This all reflects a lot of work & care by my hosts.

I had sent a cache ahead of me before I left home. Once I emptied the cache box of its contents, I started filling it with things I've already decided I can live without. I now know that I can carry a pack. I also now know that lighter is better.

I put on my new camp shoes as soon as I got here. My boots will now dry out from their dunking in the bog yesterday. My blisters, every ugly swelling one of them, get TLC by not being jammed back into damp shoes. Aside from the boots, everything has dried out from the bog & the rain.

Lainie offered me a ride on her ATV to the top of Prospect Mountain, and so I added “ATV passenger” to my list of firsts for the trip. The views on this sunny afternoon were breathtaking, dominated by big 1st Connecticut Lake just below. Mt. Magalloway loomed in the distance; I could just make out its fire tower. Lainie named just about every peak in sight, but I was too dazed to take it all in.

This evening, Pete told me he'd just been on the phone with Armand Buteau, a CT board member & owner of Pathfinder Tours & Rentals here in Pittsburg. He has offered us a kayak trip up East Inlet later in the week. I'm delighted. I had planned a hike in that area, but the best way to see it is on the water.

Rain, blisters, & bites

Yesterday was not fun. It stopped short of being miserable, but I'm still glad to be past it. I now have even more respect than before for the folks who set out in June to through-hike the CT and were stopped within days by that month's relentless downpours. I started whining to myself after only a few hours of rain. Not even thunderstorms, mind you -- just rain. Gotta toughen up a bit.

I might have covered anywhere from 13 to 15 miles, but it's impossible for me to tell since the CT map doesn't reflect the recent re-route through the Deadwater area. I was on the trail 8 hours, including stops for snacks & navigation & one maddening half-hour lost at a confusing intersection. The compass was handy.

I have blisters now. Oh, do I have blisters. I chose not to pack light shoes for camp in order to save space & weight. Bad move.

At least the rain held off for the first 3 hours or so of the day's hike. Let me state firmly that I hate snowmobile corridor 21, on which the CT now travels for a few miles. Finding it was a cinch. Walking on it was a real pain. There are very few CT blazes, since the trail is “so easy to follow,” according to the CT website. Hmmm.

First big intersection: well-worn dirt road to left. Smaller trail to right. Little CT sign pointing (not facing northbound traffic, by the way) down the smaller trail. I stopped & brought out the compass, knowing that I ought to be heading north. Great: north was precisely between the two trails. I decided to pick one, walk 10 minutes, and if I found no CT sign, back up & try the other trail. Ten minutes brought me to one snowmobile sign, but no CT sign. I backtracked & walked down the larger road, which led to a logging yard & a gate. At least that only took 6 minutes (one way) to ascertain. OK, back to the smaller trail, corridor 21.

I couldn't expect blazes on trees, with ditches on both sides of the trail. I hoped for a little brown CT sign, though. No such luck. The trail narrowed and became quite overgrown. I was heading in a northerly direction, there were no junctions, & the ridge running parallel to the trail to the east corresponded to a ridge on the map. Corridor 21 was really the only game in town.

Further on, still more weeds, & OUCH! I was hit by two simultaneous sudden attacks – a bee sting on my finger, and a sting or bite on my leg, clear through my sock, that I think must have come from a surprised & angry little garter snake. Are-we-there-yet came to mind, and not for the last time.

At last, Deadwater Loop Road. Go right or left – about 7 miles to the east end of Lake Francis in either case. I went left, hoping to hit Cedar Stream Road along the lake's south shore within a couple of miles. Five minutes later, the rain started.

Cedar Stream Road is wide & flat. There ends its list of benefits. Views of the lake were mostly obstructed by trees & camps. There was no place to rest other than the ground. It was BORING. Rain continued off & on, not helping matters.

There was a little CT sign at the junction where the CT goes off Cedar Stream Road & picks up the Lake Francis Trail. I knew from the CT website that this boggy & soggy trail had been weed-whacked just a week ago, and I thank the trail volunteers for that much! A pox on any & all ATVers who have come through, turning every little brook & drainage into a quagmire. At one point, the inevitable happened: one mud puddle couldn't be skirted, & it was deeper than my boots. Boots, socks, feet – all wet. (No gaiters.) I knew then that blisters would form & intensify within minutes. Sun was out by then, although I was under such a thick canopy of trees on this trail that rain might not have been a problem.

Checked compass again – still northbound. Databook said “keep left @ all junctions.” WHAT junctions?? The only one I saw was a signed snowmobile intersection, where I obediently went left. Are-we-there-yet was absolutely consuming me. The sweetest sound of the day was that of an internal combustion engine somewhere ahead of me, confirming that there was a road nearby. (I knew that I was parallel to River Road, but bushwhacking wouldn't have helped – the Connecticut River was in the way.)

At last! A road, a bridge, & a left turn put me on River Road. I'd have kissed the ground, but that would have meant getting up with the pack dragging me down.

Straight shot, about a mile, and I was at Lake Francis State Park & my little tent platform. I checked in & found my spot. Then, in order: ice cream from the park store, a shower, & a load of laundry. While the laundry was in the dryer, I used the pay phone to call home & check in. My husband knows not to worry, but my teenagers made clear to me before I left home that I was to call whenever I could. Now they know how I feel when they're out somewhere! Good to hear their voices, as always.

There's a loon calling nearby as I write this. My campsite is just a few trees away from the lake, away from the RVs, & I have civilized neighbors – a tranquil setting.

Rain resumed early in the evening, by which time I had everything buttoned up for the night. A neighbor came by with his dog to invite me to wait out the rain with his family under their screened canopy. Nice people. I declined, though, & I was in my sleeping bag moments later for what turned out to be 12 straight hours of sleep. My inexpensive little tent did NOT leak.

There's that loon again. I'll always associate that eerie cry with tranquility.

On Taming the Backpack

This is the first full day of moving under my own power for this trip. No cars, no one to bail me out. This is worth noting only because this is the beginning of my first hiking trip lasting more than two days. Thus I celebrate turning 50. Here's where I find out if my months of preparation were at all helpful.

From Sportman's Lodge, I picked up the CT northbound and headed to Rudy's Cabins & Campground in Clarksville. I called Kathleen Domanico, who runs Rudy's, a couple of weeks ago to ask about a tent site. She confirmed that she had some, but she quickly added “the weather can be nasty, & there's no bathhouse.” She told me a vacant camp (meaning cabin) was available for the night at a very reasonable rate. Sounded good to me. I'll have other nights to use my tent.

The trip from the lodge to Rudy's amounted to a 6 ½ hour walk, which included several short stops for snacks & water, 10 minutes of befuddlement at one intersection, & 3 very long minutes backtracking to find the map & databook which had fallen out of my pocket. Had sunshine for all of it. Most of the miles were on town roads & well-defined snowmobile trails.

Roger served me up a fine breakfast at the lodge. I delayed my departure until 7:45, right after channel 9's forecast for a sunny day. I shouldered my heavy pack (30 pounds, feels like 40, wish it were 20), fastened a small bag with camera & snacks around my waist, took up my trekking pole, and was off.

An inauspicious start: I barely made it up the driveway. I stopped at the mailbox & tweaked the pack straps to try to get more comfortable. Did that three times in the first quarter mile. Finally decided to stop at Coleman & remove the pack for serious adjustments. Five minutes later, with the pack sitting more comfortably, I continued on my way.

Heath Road was signed & easy to find. It's a two-lane-wide dirt road, narrowing after a little bridge to maybe a lane & a half, but definitely a maintained road (though a sign warned that the road was “class V”, maintained only between May & December). I kept the CT map handy, but I was sure I could count on road signs.

Well, for awhile, I couldn't. I came to an intersection at a farm, with a little gated lane to the right. Map showed a turn at a gated lane by a farm. I turned up the lane, & found that the gate was festooned with no fewer than four No Trespassing signs. I looked carefully for a CT blaze & saw none. I was extremely reluctant to ignore the signs, for two reasons. First, I had no desire to spend any time being dragged down to the state police in Colebrook. (Stewartstown does not boast a police department, & according to Mrs. C, thereby hangs a tale – but I digress.) I'm sure I'm not carrying enough cash for bail or a fine or whatever else they extract from trespassers around here. Second, and decisively, I know that the CT Association has spent years working with landowners, trying to get easements & permissions. It's a delicate business. One angry landowner could set trail development back five years.

Hooray for timidity & prudence. A few more minutes on Heath Road brought me to the intersection I sought, complete with – yes! -- real town-maintained street signs. Bear Rock Road was much livelier than Heath, meaning about 7 cars passed me. A pleasant road, but not a shady one. I was glad to have sunscreen & a hat.

Flat town roads are all well & good, and certainly better suited to my experience & temperament than mountains, but I knew "flat" couldn't last. The day's aerobic workout began on Macallaster Road. That's where I found the farm-and-gate referred to on the map. I stopped for a few minutes for a snack, and found to my amazement that my cell phone was picking up a faint signal. I texted an I'm-OK message to my daughter back home, and she texted me right back. That, I suspect, is the last communication I'll be doing via cell this week. The phone's main usefulness from here on out will be as an alarm clock & contact list.

My trekking pole earned its keep today. I've avoided it for most of my hikes in the past. One stiff knee and one persistent case of plantar fasciitis in recent months have persuaded me that I need one. It made my morning hike easier and my afternoon hike possible.

Three cars in caravan came down Macallaster at one point, one of them trailing the acrid odor of overworked brake pads. This drove home to me the fact that whoever put those contour lines on the map wasn't kidding. I got smiles & waves from the drivers, with encouraging words thrown in. Pressing onward uphill, with breathing & pulse becoming more labored, I told myself that I used to pay Gold's Gym to move me to workouts like this. I never had such pleasant views on a treadmill. There were green hills all 'round, near & far, sunshine pouring down on everything.

I was struck, as I was yesterday, by the variety & vigor of all the wildflowers on the roadside. This area can have very inhospitable weather & it certainly has a short growing season. No matter: the wildflowers, no doubt considered weeds, are running riot here. They're no less beautiful for being common.

Eventually passed Creampoke Road – I love that name – and turned onto Haines, a rough "class VI" road. Shortly, a bicyclist came into view. I called out to him that he was doing the real work, pedaling on gravel. He asked me if I was doing the CT & was pleased with my answer. He gave me an update on conditions up ahead. Within a couple of minutes, we both realized that we had met at last June's gathering of CT supporters. I was glad to have his good cheer & encouragement, and I needed that as fatigue began to set in.

CT blazes were handy as the road petered out to a snowmobile trail. I made my left turn at Weirs Tree Farm, just as map & databook directed. There was a scene that stopped me in my tracks: a clear view to the north, hills & mountains a-plenty. The Connecticut Lakes were out there somewhere, concealed by ridges.

A re-route last May took the CT a mile or so away from Rudy's. The short walk away from the trail was absolutely worth it. The camp Kathleen had reserved for me looked ready to fall down, but then I went inside. It was just fine! Comfortable, snug, electricity & running water, and situated right on Clarksville Pond: an altogether acceptable alternative to a night in a tent. I went to the campground's office to pay for my night's stay and to thank Kathleen, but she wasn't there. I tucked my payment & a note into the office door.


First thing I did at the cabin was take my boots off. (Ahhhhhh.) Second thing was sit on the porch & relax. I heard a low thrum & quickly looked up – and there was a hummingbird, barely a foot & a half from my face. I barely had time to register the amazing sight before it flew away. Plenty of birds are here along the shore.

So it's a happy end to my first long day. I am content here & now. I had hoped to get some sunset photos, but it's cloudy -- all shades of gray. Pretty, in its way.

Getting to the starting line

With the help of a Concord Coach bus to Gorham and a shuttle drive to Big Diamond Pond from Debbie & Yvan, two Cohos Trail (CT) supporters, I've arrived at Sportsman's Lodge in Stewartstown. The CT passes about a mile south of here, through Coleman State Park. I could have camped there, and it's a pleasant enough place, but Roger & Linda Glew run a fine inn at Sportman's & I always enjoy coming back here. Their support of the trail's hikers through the years has been tremendous.

While the CT is actually over 160 miles long, my goal for the next two weeks is quite modest: just the northernmost section, concentrating on the Connecticut Lakes. I'm planning to take my time & see all I can manage to see along the way.

We had a beautiful day for our drive up from Gorham, and we took our time up Rts. 16 & 26. We stopped in Dixville Notch, where Yvan & Debbie showed me the remains of an early 19th century homestead – nothing left but gravestones. We also stopped at Flume Brook, which must look heavenly to hikers coming down from Dixville Peak.

As we drove up Diamond Pond Road, Yvan told me about a man who lives on Big Diamond Pond & has a big model railroad scene in his yard. Someone vandalized it a few weeks back, & Yvan wanted to see what was left. Thus began the day's highlight – better even than the dayhike I took later.

We found the house with the train display, next to a boat launch for Big Diamond Pond. I saw what was clearly a labor of love by a real railroad fan. The scene must have been close to 30 feet long. The tracks wound around representations of all kinds of NH & North Country landmarks, including the Magalloway fire tower & the Old Man of the Mountain. The vandals, ignoring the scenery & decorations, contented themselves with tearing up the tracks.

A woman at the house saw us reviewing the damage, and she came out to chat. Her name is Mrs. C, and her husband built the model railroad. She said that when they woke up one morning and saw the damage, her husband was thoroughly disheartened. They reported the vandalism to the state police, and the report was picked up by both local newspapers. The response, according to Mrs. C, was incredible: people from NH, VT, ME & PQ wrote & called, offering help in rebuilding. “Where else in the world could you live where a story like that could make the front page of TWO newspapers?” she laughed, shaking her head at the results. The upshot is that repairs are underway.

Oh, she was full of stories about Big Diamond Pond & its families & their histories. She was careful to point out that she's not a native -- “I've only been here 25 years” -- but she loves this place. She & her husband lived in Maine & loved snowmobiling (still do), & one day their snowmobile outing brought them to this pond. They were smitten. They moved out of Maine and never looked back.

We stopped to look at a wrecked display, and found something being rebuilt instead. It was a totally unexpected delight.

Later in the day, I hiked out from the lodge to check out a short stretch of the CT between Coleman State Park & Tumble Dick Notch. The trail was extremely muddy – I mean boot-sucking, thank-you-for-Gore Tex muddy. I had a sunny day with a breeze, so bugs were only a minor nuisance. Moose tracks were everywhere. I was actually quite nervous about surprising a moose, but I didn't encounter any on the trail. After an hour & a half, I came to the good view at the notch (pictured above), where I stopped for pictures before turning around. The trail is well-blazed & no trouble to follow in this stretch.

I'm enjoying luxury here at the lodge, including a good burger for dinner. I'm the only guest at the moment, so I ate dinner in front of the lodge's huge TV watching the Sox, who aren't having much luck today.

I repacked my pack and tried to pare down my load, knowing that this was my last chance. I pulled out some odds & ends, but the big heavy things are the tent & the bear canister with food. I can't do without them. I'm leaving a bag of clean clothes here, along with the aforementioned odds & ends. I'll return in 12 days to reclaim them.

Off to pare more. Camera case is the latest casualty.