It feels so good to be back out on the trails again. The book is out, my health is almost back to 100%, and I can finally return to the mountains—not with the need to conquer a set of peaks, but only a desire to meet them again.
Yesterday I took my wingdog Bullet to Mount Cube, which is part of the “52 with a View” list in New Hampshire. With the “52”, climbers can find beautiful views without having to endure the strain of a 4000-footer. Mount Cube, at 2,915 feet, sits thirty-fifth on the list, and its lower elevation gave me confidence that I could take Bullet up without getting him hurt. Bullet loves to hike, and after we go for little hikes around my town, he’s always pressing me for more. So, I decided to give him what he wanted and although he did great, I’m not sure when we’ll hit our next mountain together—we finished Cube at 1:30pm yesterday, and he’s been pretty much asleep ever since.
The route up Mount Cube is gradual and lovely. The fall colors are popping right now, and when we reached the false summit (where I was lured into believing I had reached the top but still had a little ways to go) I had a wonderful view of the valley below, basking in the midday sun. Along the way, I met several friendly hikers and got to enjoy their company at several points along the trail. It’s a strange phenomenon, but I’ve noticed when your hike is more than a simple hike and actually takes you up a mountain, people seem kinder and more enthusiastic than they do on the flatlands. I’m repeating something I said in 4000s by 40, but kindness really does seem to grow in accordance with the recognition of increased effort.
At the summit were several people, including a couple of women who appeared to be doing the AT, or at least some section of it. Bullet didn’t feel like taking a break, so we didn’t linger long—just enough for me to have a five-minute sit and enjoy the views. Maybe Bullet couldn’t relax because he knew the weather was about to turn; moments after we left the summit, it started to rain. By the time we got back to the false summit, a little bit of hail started falling. Actually, it was more like sleet but chunkier; like hailstones, but not. Hmm. There should be a word for this in-between phase of precipitation. Hold on, let me ask ChatGBT… Graupel! It was graupeling all over the place. Graupeling supposedly isn’t a word, but it should be.
On the descent, I caught up with a few of the hikers I met before and spent the last twenty minutes or so talking and hiking with them. One of my favorite things about hiking is the ease with which you can meet total strangers—totally unlike city streets, where everyone is heads down, hoping to avoid each other. It seems that where it’s less crowded, we tend to seek each other out, and even more so when we’re in the midst of a more challenging effort. Yet another good reason to keep climbing.
Baker road leaving the Cross Rivendell trailhead in Orford, NH