67 in 67, Hike #12: Mount Cardigan, Orange, New Hampshire

Hike #19: Mount Cardigan

Elevation: 3,156

Date: June 6, 2015

Location: Orange, NH

Distance: 5.7 miles

Time: 4:37 (48.36/mile)

 

Any time something becomes a regular event in your life, it becomes easy to take it for granted. Whatever it is, you may be very clear that you love or hate it. But, people often adapt to any change, so you adjust to it and it becomes your “new normal”. This may be a new approach to nutrition, new exercise program, new job, new kid, new divorce, new place to live… the list goes on and on.

 

When I went through some big upheaval in my life a few years back, multiple types of activities in the woods across all seasons became ways to work things out in my mind, connect with those around me, and enjoy living. In short, playing in the woods became my new normal. After a while, I developed skills and knowledge to even become pretty good at it all. I’ve now mountain biked black diamond trails, skied double-diamond trails, and hiked the whole Presidential Range of New Hampshire in a single day. I also have read and written about outdoor adventures, and some of the best moments of my life have taken place on mountains; not bad for a guy who quit playing in the dirt for twenty years.

 

A quiet moment to appreciate living well.

“Too many of us are not living our dreams because we’re living our fears,” Les Brown once observed. Many times, if you want to make a change in your life it is about making the mental commitment and persevering until that change becomes your new normal: quit smoking, and after the first week, month, and year it gets easier. Reduce your sugar enough and you’ll find that a big slice of cheesecake now sits like lead in your stomach for a few hours. Exercise several times each week and a few months later you’ll find you’ve dropped weight. This is the way it’s always been for me, too. Only, sometimes effort, commitment, and sacrifice are completely irrelevant.

 

Both my feet had a plantar fasciitis flare-up starting over a year ago. Symptoms worsened over a few months, and I became increasingly limited. I only hiked two easy mountains, biked very intermittently, and even skiing, one of the few doctor-endorsed activities, caused several days of pain. Apparently, I’m an outlier. Apparently, anyone who has a double limp also looks weird (feel free to video yourself trying it if you don’t believe me).

 

Bonding with Sara on Mount Cardigan's Holt Trail

A ridiculous amount of medical visits, treatment approaches, time, money, and agony clearly established me as a statistical outlier. More painfully, it cost me the chance to live life in the way I love. It cost me moments of calm, accomplishment, pride, intimacy, amazement, and insights. I've rarely felt as peaceful as I have when sitting on a solitary, wind-swept summit. Nor have I typically felt as connected to Sara as when we've bounced across deep and light topics during a hike and settled into an evening in a plush hotel room bed, bundled up in a hut, or in front of a crackling fire. My job has its challenges and rewards, but will never leave me as pumped as when I finally crossed a narrow bridge over rocks that had previously left me with a broken hand. Lastly, sitting with my girls beside a mountain stream or on a chair lift offers a great chance to better understand their world, give them opportunities to develop, and to have experiences that lead to stories we'll relive years later.

 

Is this a sign of fun or stupidity?

I’ve slowly progressed and just undertook my first hike of the season. The intent was for a mild, shorter day hike. We chose Mount Cardigan, in southern New Hampshire. It turned into more mileage because Google directed us to the wrong parking lot and we missed a trail intersection. But I survived. I also survived the Holt Trail, one of New Hampshire’s hardest trails that is about as difficult of a free climb as hikers will tackle. My feet were no worse the next day and it gives hope of more hikes to come this year.



The injury, regardless of the healing time, will be temporary. The real scare is because of what it points out: no matter your effort, at some point everyone’s best days will be behind them and their bodies will fail them. I can’t be in my sixties getting tossed over the handlebars deep in the woods. I won’t want to sleep in a hard, cold lean-to.  I won’t traverse the Presidential Range in a single day when I’m in my eighties. It’s not an insult; it’s part of the natural arc of life. Frankly, it’s the part that sucks. Perseverance can keep that part at bay for a while, but not forever.

 

Immersed in the free climb section
of the Holt Trail

Hiking Mount Cardigan reminded me how much I’ve missed this sort of activity: Sara and I were unplugged, our conversation meandered across topics, and we bonded after contorting ourselves through and over a particularly nasty section of rock. I liked the challenge that an oceanfront game of bocce can’t provide, and the endless view of rolling mountains reminded me of rolling waves, but yet was very different.

 

There may be no real lesson from this injury. Maybe it just stunk as it became my yearlong new normal. But, since we often search for meaning in events, maybe there is some value in it. Although I’ve loved how I’ve lived over the last few years, and tried to squeeze every bit of living out of those moments, maybe I still took it for granted, at least during this point in my life. This injury has reinforced how temporary and fleeting things can be. Maybe this helps me appreciate these times for however much longer they’ll last: more chances to have long conversations, to watch a child study a bug or butterfly, to enjoy the accomplishment of summiting a tough mountain, to coach my girls to push themselves past their comfort zones, to feel the rush of a natural mountain bike half-pipe among the trees, or to sit with my family on an open peak as we take in the view. While I currently can’t imagine the day when I give them up, maybe it also points out the benefit of being open to finding a way to continue some version of this lifestyle, but in a modified way: loving and immersing myself in the outdoors, but in a way I might not have thought of at this point in my life.

Feet, don't fail me now!

Today, I don’t need to figure out what my future outdoor lifestyle may look like. Time and effort will figure out what becomes my new normal. My desire for a meaningful life well lived means I’ll try to make the most of it. For now, I need to celebrate being on the edge of returning to those activities that offer a vibrant, connected life. In short, today I’m focusing on celebrating my impending return to my old normal.

 

See you on the trails,

Jay, AKA Rockhopper

Top 5 Most Random Parenting Moments

Father’s Day, 2015

In honor of Father’s Day, Sara posted a series of pictures over the years of me with my girls; sometimes tender, sometimes humorous, they were all sweet and left me thinking about the stories we’ve accumulated over the years. In honor of that, I offer five completely entertaining parenting moments.

 

How do I teach this move?

Surviving the inches-deep water and fighting the urge to pee!

Our first canoe trip caused some panic in both girls, still pretty young. They worried for a while about the risk of tipping and the potential to drown, and brief panic set in every time the canoe wobbled, which was pretty often. My attempts to alleviate their anxieties took a while to work, despite pointing out that the unsteadiness was because we were bottoming out and they were unlikely to drown in slow-moving water only up to their ankles. Eventually, they relaxed, but anxiety crept up again when they had to go to the bathroom and discovered there were no port-a-potties stationed periodically along the river.

 

Eventually, I headed off with one who was desperate enough to relieve herself. Finding a secluded spot, she was about to just stand and pee, and needed instructions on how to appropriately relieve herself. Suddenly, I realized I should have switched with Sara, as I am not knowledgeable enough to teach this technique! Alas, too late, and now I had to quickly figure out a reasonable technique and explain it. She was mostly successful, and comfortable enough to go again later. In fact, she declared her abilities as we were landing the canoes at the end of the day – and everyone else pulling their canoes out of the water were quite clear on her newfound skill!

 

Under-where?

Aah, the bliss (and sand) before we all realized
some critical clothing had been misplaced!

We took a road trip to the beach one year for a daughter’s birthday. We opened presents and enjoyed the time at the beach all day, and everyone had a blast. Late in the day, the goal was to change and go into town for dinner before heading home. In the bath house, we all changed out of sandy bathing suits in favor of dry, clean clothes. Only, we discovered that one daughter’s underwear had somehow gotten lost! No amount of searching uncovered the missing underwear, and we pondered our next move. So began my daughter’s first “commando” day. Upon arriving at the restaurant, we first ducked into a Gap store across the street, where my daughter went from commando to wearing the most expensive underwear she’d ever owned. Problem solved, and on to the birthday cake!

 

Does gravity still work?

Enjoying the beginning of a birthday celebration,
a moment before the crash.

“Camping for your birthday? Sure honey, sounds fun!” So began my older daughter’s birthday plan when she was seven. We stayed at a campground not too far away, with a nice site and nearby bathrooms and showers. We formally celebrated her birthday at the picnic table, with presents and dessert. Well, we tried. Unfortunately, right after the beautiful, wide smile, her birthday took a turn for the worse when she fell off the picnic table. Oops! While I am not sure what her birthday wish was, a reasonable guess would be to spend the rest of the day ouchy-free!

 

 

 

A timeout? Or chance to recover?

It’s unfortunate when your daughter acts up and needs to get a timeout. It’s even more unfortunate when she won’t go on her own volition and needs be carried. It’s terribly unfortunate when you’re carrying her to the timeout chair and accidentally bang her head on the doorway. OOPS!

Distraught and in a tutu. Oh, the humanity!

 

Revisionist history

On a glorious summer day, my mother and I drove my girls down to Newport, RI, for a tour of one of the mansions. We elected to take a self-guided tour, in which we wore headphones and started our recordings at the same moments so we’d hear everything in synch with each other. We were enjoying ourselves and laughing periodically. However, as we worked our way further and further into the bowels of the mansion, my smallest daughter became increasingly uncomfortable and we couldn’t figure out why. Later, we realized that the atrium-like set-up of the servants’ areas left her feeling as if the mansion would come crashing down on her. At the moment, I tried to reassure.

 

One daughter hugging the other, presumably because of finishing the tour!

My efforts proved to be in vain, as my mother subtly hid behind a wall in the next room, and sprung out at my youngest. She freaked her so badly that my poor, innocent child was left trembling. I both laughed and cursed my mother over my daughter’s head, as she hugged me in a death grip. She recovered quickly enough, and Nana and I continued giggling.

 

My payback was to continually misconstrue the story and how genetics work. Now, my daughter is convinced that Nana repeatedly traumatized to her and anyone related to her must be into scaring people because of Nana’s genes. The stories no longer bear any resemblance to the reality, but hey, why let the facts get in the way of a good story?

 

Cheaters Never Prosper

It’s important to be active, to experiment with different sports, and to pursue the one you’re passionate about; even if that is feet-never-lift-off-the-floor hallway races. However, even if you’re good and if you have a competitive streak, you should never cheat. If you do, you never know how the joy of defeat can turn into being hauled away by a crazy man for some dastardly torture.

All of these moments were unexpected and minor. But the little moments, whether in the midst of a bigger adventure or on an inconsequential evening, often make for the most beautiful memories. So, happy Father’s Day to the dads out there, navigating big and little events, and hopefully enjoying the ride!

 

 

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

Skiing, parenting, and letting go

Wildcat and Attitash, New Hampshire

Winter, 2015

 

I’m a parent. So I work to instill what I think are good values in my kids. I encourage them to dream and take chances and engage with the world. I try to inspire. I also worry: I worry that the world will inflict hurt they don’t deserve, or that I will mess them up. I worry about fears both real and imagined. I also try to relate to each as unique individuals, and to tailor my parenting to them. Then I try to model as best I can and given them experiences to reinforce everything.

 

For all my pondering, agonizing, modeling, and persevering, along with plenty of laughs, it was one of the better moments as a father to fall into the experiences we recently shared.

 

Skiing is the easiest outdoor activity aside of the beach to excite the girls. Unlike the beach, it involves risk taking, building skills and confidence, and very real successes or failures. The girls have now skied for five seasons, and have progressively improved. Sure, they’ve got their idiosyncrasies, such as one daughter stopping by extending her arms, as if an eagle coming in for a landing. But they have nervously yet successfully skied their first few black diamond trails. They’ve also enjoyed mild glades, darting in between trees and following my rule that you have to have a sound (“yip!”, “wee!”, or “ho!”) as you pop over the little jumps created in the woods. The girls entered the season having skied regularly, but only at two different mid-level mountains. But they are better than they realize, and their lack of confidence is as big of a barrier as is any gap in skiing technique.

 

Waiting for the rest of the group at a headwall at Attitash, NH

This season brought the first opportunity for them to ski with other kids. It appeared that peers can be more motivational than any of my allegedly inspirational speeches. Partnering these pre-teen girls with extended family including a slightly older boy and a girl in high school, and then choosing more challenging trails at a bigger mountain than they’ve historically skied, led them to seemingly feel obligated to keep up; they found out their skiing was perfectly fine. Also, when some peeled off to work on technique, they joined in. When one run split into two groups, they helped turn it into a “girls vs. boys” event. Importantly, they also had times on and off the slopes when they partnered up with the other kids and didn’t need adults present, relishing the attention and partnerships with older kids.

 

Bonding at Wildcat's lodge 

Conversely, we spent half of another ski vacation with another family that had two girls who were younger but more skilled. Skiing challenging trails at bigger mountains with this family, including many black diamond trails, seemed to motivate my kids to keep up with their younger counterparts. Given that both of those parents are also excellent skiers, it also led to looking at options that might not normally have been considered, such as skiing rougher stuff under the lift lines. Again, there was more independence and self-reliance showing up in various ways, such as when one of the younger girls insisted that one of my daughters ride the chairlift with her, which means my family wasn’t a constant foursome, having a single chairlift to ourselves. My kids had a hard time saying no to a young girl pleading for their company, and that reinforced their ability to handle a mountain without needing me to take care of things.



Group discussion of trail options (we chose the "most fun" one)

Later in that vacation, we skied some of the same trails by ourselves that they’d acknowledged were intimidating on a mountain they’d rated as lower on their list of favorites. Only, now some of those trails seemed easier, and the mountain now ranked #1 for one child and #2 for another. After a snowstorm dropped a foot of fresh powder, they also let go of their fear of falling. In fact, tackling black diamond trails with new snow pushed into near-moguls left grown-ups falling; instead of being intimidated by witnessing that, the girls came to see it as reassurance that it’s okay to try and fail.

Family time, in the late-afternoon shadow of Mount Washington,
after enjoying a foot of fresh pow and plenty of black diamond trails!

Dad, remember when hard trails scared us?

Their season concluded by skiing a mid-level mountain near home that we’ve skied many times before. After choosing the most difficult route to the bottom, the kids finished it confident, almost bored, and surprised that there was nothing harder left to tackle. In that moment, it became clear that they’ve outgrown that mountain. It also became clear to them that they’ve become good little skiers, and when I put myself and them through a lesson next winter to give us better technique for the harder and more fun trails we’ll continue seeking out, it will be hard for them to continue debating the value of that time investment.

 

It’s now exciting to more than just me to know that there are other big mountains in our future to go explore: chatter with the same extended family has already started around next winter’s “family reunion ski vacation” and discussing what big mountain we might next try, and the different amenities that may be offered by various major ski resorts (the girls can tolerate the four-hour drive to Jay Peak, Vermont, if they get to play in the amazing indoor water park). And the social aspect of such ski trips fosters further independence and memories. That autonomy and belief in themselves, which should translate to other aspects of their lives, is a huge underlying point of these sorts of efforts.

 

Sorry to see our best ski season ever draw to a close!

When I look back at the ski season, it was filled with great times together and with friends and family. It bred moments of laughter, exhilaration, adventure, personal challenge, and reward.  Some moments unfolded on the ski slopes, others in an outdoor hot tub, others in the ski lodge, and some great times took place just hanging out in a condo wearing PJ’s. I realized the girls share my feelings when they recounted some of these experiences with their friends and via Instagram pictures, and still regularly and proudly use their souvenir gear.

 

I hate to see the best collective ski season draw to an end, as the record-setting New England snow finally is melting away.  As my kids move further into pre-teen and teen years, my role becomes diminished, and I hope my philosophies, morals, and priorities are appropriately instilled while letting them be the individuals they are. Their reactions this year as I stepped back and a bigger group came into the picture left me feeling proud of my parenting, and prouder of what I’m seeing emerge in my increasingly independent daughters.

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

When Adventures End Badly

Sunday River, Maine
December, 2014

Great snow-making, but this turned out to
be foreshadowing of problems to come!

Great! Sara and I are on the morning of Day 2 of our ski vacation, we’ve dusted off the cobwebs during our first day of skiing, lift lines aren’t bad, and we’ve got a lot of runs in front of us over the next few days, capped off by the outdoor hot tub and some great après ski food, drink, and live music. We come across a black diamond trail and decide to tackle it. Let’s roll!

 

I now queue the high energy music and start attacking the trail. A couple of minutes later, Sara’s foot slides out trying to turn in her tele skis on a steep, icy section, and she has what appears to be an innocuous fall. And, in an instant, our vacation’s basically over.

Great view from American Express, right before our vacation ended prematurely!

While the fall seemed harmless, it left Sara barely able to walk. She’s tough: no one who’s a baby can complete a marathon, spend a week on a solo backpack, or go over the handlebars mountain biking and sport the most enormous bruise I’ve ever seen in my life. So when I kick stopped beside her I had a pretty good idea that our vacation had just taken as bad of a turn as she just did. It didn’t seem possible that an hour later we’d be tackling black diamond trails again on our way to eight hours of skiing, followed by another couple days of it. The vacation I’d hoped and planned for was no longer going to happen. So now it was a matter of waiting to see what this turned into.

Taking a step back for a moment, the reality is that Sara and I routinely put ourselves in harm’s way. We live a life that involves pushing mental and physical boundaries, and taking real risks. Some of the things we do require signing waivers, letting people know our plans in case we don’t return, and investing in protective gear – never the kind of thing couch potatoes are asked to do. There is a rush of adrenaline when I’m clipping into the bike on the high end of a rock garden, or planting my ski poles on a headwall, or taking off my backpack to throw it across a divide before leaping across myself. That rush partly stems from having fun in the woods. But it’s also very connected to knowing that I can get hurt. Most times I’ll be OK. Sometimes I’ll get dented up a little. A few times I’ll get laid out and be gimpy for a bit. And every once in a while I’ll need to go to the ER. But even though we are very calculated in the risks we take, that danger is a reality of this life and part of the thrill, and sometimes it means events won’t end well.

Nice view, but we were focused on making it down
the mountain in one (damaged) piece.

In this case, Sara and I were able to eventually work our way over to a summit lodge, where she tried unsuccessfully to stretch things out before doggedly skiing out under her own power, despite accidentally turning off a mild, green cruiser into a stunt park. Two hours after her fall, she finally could sit down in our hotel room, albeit gingerly and with assistance.

Now that the immediacy of being stuck halfway down an icy, steep trail with an injury had passed, the question arose of how to proceed. The resulting couple of days clarified a lot for me on two fronts.

Despite Sara’s encouragement for me to still ski without her and avoid a total waste of a vacation, I was done, too. For any bigger adventure, my reality is that I don’t want to do it alone. I want someone who can share the experience, enrich it, and relive it with me later. So, if my partner’s knocked out of commission, especially in this case if it’s my best friend and lifelong partner, the party’s over. My focus shifted to helping her, trying to ease her pain and help her acclimate to the reality that she’d really hurt herself. It led to a trip to the on-mountain clinic and then to the emergency room, where they luckily ruled out suspicion of a broken pelvis and instead diagnosed a deep contusion on a muscle controlling much of the movement of her right leg. That eventually led to returning home earlier than expected, where she could rest more comfortably.

Yep. Our adventure included seeing the inside of the clinic
this time. Not the adventure we wanted, but the one we had!

The other aspect that this clarified is that it didn’t really end the adventure. It just changed it. A survivalist rule dictates that you need to always be willing to reassess your situation instead of stubbornly locking onto your original plan. If these adventures are to learn about myself, grow, and share experiences further bonding me with others, especially Sara, then that didn’t end when our run down American Express did. We worked together, figured out and evolved our plans, and I held her hand as she laid nervously on an exam bed at the mountain clinic and later in the ER. In short, I was able to really be there for her as events unfolded. Those are still moments that brought us closer and that we’ll share for years, even if we didn’t get to try those Bloody Marys with the thick bacon stirrer they had at the summit bar.

Everyone is entitled to have their own goals and ways of doing things. For me, I was able to come away proud of how I adapted to the situation and supported Sara. I still have stories I can share. And it reinforces that this is part of the trade-off of this sort of lifestyle, with a chance to learn, grow, and live fully. Most importantly, the woman that I love, and love sharing this life with, and I are tighter than ever and will soon be back at it.

 

The end of one adventure just simply means the next one can get started!

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

Kayaking the Bass River with Kids

Kayaking the Bass River with Kids

Bass River, Yarmouth, Cape Cod, MA

August 17, 2014

 

I long ago established that my girls would prefer to not sweat, smell, or be exhausted. Hiking = all of the above. Sure, it can also be beautiful and serene, and you can learn about who you are in that moment and grow from it at the same time. Oh, and it’s a helluva lot safer than taking them mountain biking with me! But, they’re young and aren’t big fans of sucking up the discomfort. Well, my foot’s been screwed up for a good chunk of the year so for months they haven’t had to worry about Dad making them have a great time whether they like it or not.

 

My foot messed up my planned August vacation, a big part of which was a 30-plus mile hike through the interior of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. There’s a fine line between pushing yourself and being an idiot. Granted, I normally leap in some moronic fashion over that line as far as I can. But then there’s being an idiot and being an IDIOT, complete with Search-and-Rescue teams. I’ll keep my idiocy in check… this time.

 

If I can't exercise then I can see what makes me feel better:
cabernet or merlot.

So we went to Cape Cod for the week, and I tried things with less impact on my foot, like mountain biking, cycling, and visiting a vineyard (yummy-delish). Aside of some minor fiascos like having to lift my mountain bike (and myself) over a fence to get back to a road, wiping out when I found out the hardpack I was mountain biking on was actually sand with a thin crust, or being on a road bike in a surprise downpour, it was fun.

 

I wanted to carry that sort of Plan B recreation over to my girls, too. In trying to figure out some way to torture them with both nature and exercise, we stumbled across an activity we haven’t done often: kayaking. Perfect: it’s not foot-oriented, it’s up close with nature on a beautiful day, and if they sweat then the salt water will mask their smell – maybe they’ll even (gasp!) have a good time.

 

Kayaking the Bass River on Cape Cod

With some nearby options, we chose to rent from a place adjacent to a large river and bay. No need to truck the kayaks anywhere, plenty of nooks and crannies, no strong ocean currents carrying us to Europe… all good. We paired up with a kid in front and adult in back of a couple of two-person kayaks. After getting paddles, life jackets, a map, and warnings of areas to avoid (avoiding the channel several harbors use and the designated high-speed area were a couple of stellar suggestions), we set out.

 

Good synchronization!

The girls were a little nervous at first, and there was more of a current than the pond that was the site of our previous excursions. They’re also now older than those prior times, and they worked hard to carry their weight. We had no choice but to cut across a channel, and they paddled hard, digging until we were on the other side and they could take a breather. Then they both tried to stay in synch with their grown-up partner. Even though a rule is that the one in front can do their thing at a steady pace and the person in back will deal with steering, it was cute to see them looking back to make sure their strokes were well-timed and taking their performance seriously.

 

Break time!

It was also nice to see them asking about, or pointing out, things around them.  A lot of your surroundings get missed when you’re driving by them, or schlepping from Point A to Point B as you cross weekend chores of your list. But out on the water, like hiking, you’re more aware of your surroundings, observing more and then thinking about it. The girls saw a zillion hermit crabs by the water’s edge, which would flee to the beach grass if you approached. They learned about how the channels work, and about dredging which taught them more about erosion and how surprisingly impermanent land can be.

 

It's great to see an expression like that!

 

This also meant that we could bond in a way that’s harder to do when you’re running errands or dealing with some of the normal grind. As I try hard to get chores out of the way during the week, the extra time for quality events pays off. I could get a glimpse into the mind of my daughter as she has an experience in which she gets better at paddling, taking advantage of, as she calls them, her “disposable thumbs.” I can’t trick them as I did when they were younger and the world more mysterious – like convincing my youngest that only little people lived in the nearby town of Littleton, or that each denim leg is a “jean”, and since there are two legs it’s a “pair of jeans”. But the world is still vast and fascinating to them, as it should be, and whether it’s a joke or education, I realized activities like this offer boundless opportunities to connect and for them to grow.

Looks like we were back first - we win!

 

After navigating around the bay for a couple of hours and making it safely back to port, we turned in our supplies and headed home. The store liquidates its fleet every year, and we had the chance to purchase discount kayaks. We passed, but it led to discussion. Later that day, I probed the girls to see if it was worth the investment. Would they use them? Would it get boring? Would it be something else Dad forces them to have fun doing? Their thoughts were interesting: yes, it wore their arms out, but that’s not as bad as leg fatigue. If they started sweating, they could use the water surrounding them to cool themselves off. One was interested in the two girls learning to use a kayak without a grown-up. The other was interested in trying different types of water, from shallow to deep, ponds, lakes, rivers, and even the ocean. Both could see using it locally or going further afield, and being a good way to make a boring day into a ready-made field trip. So, they spoke to an interest in it, and enough scenarios in which I wouldn’t be dragging them reluctantly along.

 

I hope to have more moments like this next year!

Bottom line from this experience is that my injury may have wound up finding a way for the girls to push themselves, to connect more with the world around them, to have an activity with Dad that can be a bonding experience. And although fatigue and body odor will exist, they aren’t disqualifiers. I’m not sure how it’ll turn out, but it holds good promise. The warm weather will be winding down, but it’s a good thing to ponder as we soon turn our attention to ski slopes, where the cold keeps B.O. at bay, mental challenges are disguised as fun, and fatigue is quickly forgotten in the face of hot chocolate and another run down the slopes.

 

See you on the trails,

Jay Bell, AKA RockHopper

Family Hike #4: Carter Notch Hut, NH

Hike #18: Carter Notch Hut with kids

Elevation: 3,288

Date: September 13-14, 2014

Location: Coos County, NH

Distance: 7.6 miles over two days

Time: 6:53

 

What a waste of a year! A foot injury has killed the season. When planning vacations and bigger activities at the start of the year, we booked a mid-September weekend at the Carter Notch Hut with my daughters. I’d done it a year earlier and had a phenomenal time, and wanted to share that experience with them. It would push them to a higher elevation than they’d ever climbed, and the hut would be both fun and a way to reduce their pack loads. So, I was determined to ignore the injury and make the most of the hike, and shut it back down for the year afterwards.

 

Group selfie at the start of the Carter Notch hilke!

Despite their dislike of exertion, sweating, and muscle fatigue, my girls enjoy the gearhead aspect. The night before, the girls were excited as we sorted supplies and clothes, figuring out the right combination, packing clothes in big Ziploc bags to keep them dry. They pondered, questioned, learned, took suggestions, and made decisions. It was good to see their seriousness as they both trusted our experience and took ownership.

 

The air had a pleasant chill when we arrived at the trailhead after a long drive. We geared up, took some selfies, and set out. Cars overflowed the lot into the road in both directions. But the good news in setting out later than most was that we had the trail pretty much to ourselves.

 

Alright ladies: everyone stop and admire the scenic brook!

 

No handrails? No problem!

The plan was to hike up to the saddle between the summits of Carter Dome and Wildcat, along the well-maintained, gently sloped trail that ran just under four miles. The climb was perfect for the girls’ abilities and so much fun. They stopped occasionally for food breaks and enjoyed some delicious snacks. They asked about the environment around them, such as the out-of-place dam for such a small brook. They learned, such as about leave-no-trace principles. They engaged with their surroundings, including snapping pictures of the small waterfalls or a patch of wildflowers alongside the trail. They demonstrated admirable delayed gratification, such as refusing to eat their cupcakes until they reached the hut. They showed respect, such as protecting a caterpillar in the middle of the trail that was in prime position to get squashed. And they demonstrated bravery, at some water crossings.

 

Admiring the view of a high mountain
pond and Wildcat's summit.

The hike took almost four hours, about twice as long as last year, but I couldn’t care less. The four of us were immersed in our journey and the world around us. We also constantly morphed: at times the four of us conversed. Then we’d break off into pairs before one kid drifted to another person to listen in on a story, ask a question, or just bond anew. Then we’d converge back together, such as guessing how long the Fruit By the Foot snack would be, if fully unrolled (answer: three feet).

 

Once we crested the 19-Mile Brook Trail and were really close to the hut, the wind picked up noticeably. It was funneling between the mountains and gathering strength, and carried a cool, raw feel. But we descended slightly from the crest and lingered by the high mountain pond, snapping pictures and absorbing the beautiful scenery. As we continued on, the hut was close by and the girls’ energy picked up knowing they were close.

 

Time for unpacking, snacks, and comfy clothes!

We checked in and were assigned our own bunk room, which was perfect. Turns out I would stay in the same room and bunk as a year earlier. The girls enjoyed unpacking, setting up their beds, and deciding on the comfy clothes to wear. Composting toilets? Notsomuch, but better than digging a hole.

 

Back in the main lodge, they warmed themselves on the plentiful hot chocolate and we snagged the hut’s Scrabble game for some fun while munching on cheese and pepperoni we’d packed in. Sarah, who hates pepperoni, nevertheless chowed on it, proclaiming, “it’s soooo gross. But I can’t stop eating it!” At dinner, Sarah and Sydney were hungry and wiped out so they fought to stay awake, hands propping up heads, as we adults talked to a family next to us. But after several helpings of turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy, they came around a little. Despite their hunger, it was good to see prior lessons staying with them; they took small helpings and cleaned their plates, knowing leftovers had to get packed out by an Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) staff member.

 

After dinner, we retired to the bunk room. The girls got a second wind and stayed up surprisingly late. That made for a lot of highlights, some quirky. On the good side, Sarah noticed a big gap under the door and we blocked it with spare clothes, instantly warming the room from the outside temps in the 30’s. Less pleasant (but funny) was when one of the girls next to us at dinner lost her winter hat in the composting toilet and insisted her mom go in and retrieve it – not happening! Sarah was reluctant to use that stall the rest of the night out of consideration. But mostly the girls liked wearing sleeping bags and headlamps, chatting and laughing. Sure, Sarah got scared at one point about my creepy tale of local madman Earl Farthead (pronounced "far-the-add"). But once I forced her to spell the last name, she clued in and dropped the fear. I decided not to push things by sharing too much about my fictitious New Orleans witch doctor, Jean-Louis Booger ("boo-zhay").

 

Everyone enjoyed each other's company,
and their own little worlds.

And the sweetest moment was between my girls and their stepmom. They affectionately refer to her as “Big Sara” since my daughter laid claim to having the name first. Turns out there’s a National Step-parents Day, which would be right after the hike. Big Sara has helped raise the girls, teaching them to hike and ski, and cultivating in them more confidence, perseverance, and aspirations. Through those events and adventures, they’ve grown to be close and she serves as a great role model. They surprised her with a bracelet with a tree on it, symbolizing growth, hope, and conservation – fitting, given her influence, and our hike. Sydney secretly enjoyed the affectionately teary smile and hugs that followed… and the big pig pile that followed which I didn’t instigate.

 

Despite the lack of amenities and internet connection, the cold and snow mixing in with the rain, the girls had a blast that night. They could’ve whined and seen only the limitations. But they rolled with it, saw it for the unusual adventure it was, and looked forward to bragging to their friends about it.

 

The girls found the note we'd left for them a year earlier,
congratulating them on making it to this point.

The next morning was pretty cold as we piled into the lodge for a hearty breakfast. After dressing for the descent, we stopped back in the lodge to refill water bottles. Then we pulled out last year’s logbook and found our note from last year’s trip. The girls discovered it was actually to them, complimenting them on making it here. They were proud and found it cool that we’d written it a year in advance, confident this moment would arrive. And, in a last bit of chatting with the wonderful AMC “croo”, we talked about Red Mac, an early AMC pioneer who spent decades staffing the Carter Notch hut and who purportedly haunts the hut. The staff responded by sharing honestly some events they or their fellow croo members had experienced. The girls were definitely weirded out. But I’d deliberately brought this topic up in the day, as we were leaving, so the odds of nightmares decreased dramatically.

 

Great Fall weather accompanied our
return hike from the hut and Carter Dome.

The walk out was easier, despite tired legs, with a pleasant, gradual descent of barely over three hours in cool, dry, sunny weather that made for perfect hiking conditions. The only lowlight was when Sarah caught her foot in some rocks and crashed on them, getting a couple of tiny but painful bruises on her kneecap. But when they looked like eyeballs, we drew eyebrows and a frown, and Sarah laughed and turned her attitude around. In fact, near the end she was running. Normally one to drag and slow the pace, she wanted to finish with a sub-three-hour hike and it was great to see her push so hard.

 

The eyes were bruises from a fall
but the rest of the face was
sympathetically from a pen.

After exiting the woods, and changing into dry clothes, we started the drive home. Sarah fell asleep in no time, and Sydney was low on energy but unable to nap. Near Loon Mountain, we stopped for well-deserved ice cream. Sure, I couldn’t let a nice moment go without a prank. So I woke Sarah up and told her we were almost home. When she reacted in surprise, I burst her bubble pointing out we had well over two hours left. But the furrowed brow disappeared as she scanned the list of options in the ice creams shop.

 

There was so much shared adventure that I can live without the dozen summits I’d expected to hit this year. It set a new bar for the girls that allows us to look at multi-hut hikes or other options next year, opening up a lot of possibilities. They’re at an age where they can still be pushed and influenced, but they’re old enough to respond to real challenges. It’s a great point in their childhood. And while this weekend will stay with me forever, I’m just as excited to see what next year brings.

 

See you on the trails,

Jay, AKA RockHopper