7-4-13 Big Coolidge Mt, Franconia Ridge, Off Trail.

Early July 4th morning I was wandering around the Forrest Ridge condominium complex near Lincoln, NH, looking for a relatively easy route for bushwhacking up to Franconia Ridge from Lincoln. I had tried variations back in the fall from another starting point without any luck but came out of it a little wiser. The route I was going to try on Thursday was to circle upwards around Big Coolidge Mt. staying in hardwood forest as much as possible and avoiding the dense coniferous growth of spruce and fir near the treeline.

On Thursday my y primary purpose was to find a small "opening", a small place to push through that dense coniferous growth so I can scoot over the ridge and slip down effortlessly into the Pemi on the east side of Mt. Flume. After an hour of searching I found a likely lead consisting of an grown-over path heading uphill and into the woods (first photo). Mt. Coolidge was heavily logged about 120 years ago and I expected to find some of the dugway roads loggers used to bring the logs to the mills and use them as a resource. The one in the photo above was close to the Condominium parking lot running east and west. There were foot prints and tire tracks in a muddy sections indicating it's being used recreationally by folks at the condos.

Higher up the mountain flank I found more remnants of older logging roads that probably dated back to the 1890s. Records indicate that both Little and Big Coolidge Mts. along with Whaleback (Osseo) and Potash Knob were all logged off in 1893-1894 by J. E. Henry and Sons of Lincoln, NH (from Bill Gove excellent book, J. E Henry's Logging Railroads, published by Bondcliff Books in 1998).  In some cases, as on the Hancocks, the dugway roads circled the mountains. Dugway logging roads were the most expedient system for moving logs downhill. Crews simply dug into the mountain pulling the soil away from the uphill side across to the downhill side until a wide enough, level roadway existed which eventually got packed down from use. The track in the second photo above is a good example.

It got steeper and steeper until I came to the base of a high cliff with huge boulders stacked around the base that seemed to be in competition with the trees. There were large trees, one or two measuring 3 feet in diameter, consisting of white ash, sugar maple, beech and yelllow birch growing in and around the boulder field at the bottom of the cliff while white birch and balsam fir grew on the cliff face taking root in cracks and on ledges. The cliff is about 100 feet high.

Hey, I was here first!

Downhill roots of an ash tree that measured 95 inches in circumference, or 2 feet 8 inches. The downhill roots are more thicker and longer on the older, larger tree as a necessary means to steady the tree against the inevitability of gravity.

Further to the west and away from the cliff the terrain and forest looked like this and was easy to navigate through.

This is looking up the cliff face. It's barely visible through the foliage but dramatic all the same.

 I'm going to say it's weathered Conway granite. Most of the cliff face was encrusted with lichen and moss.  I have to say that I'm drawn to cliffs and find them both fascinating (mesmerizing) and exciting to be near, if not on. Like the mountains themselves, cliffs, particularly high, dramatic ones, like the Eiger, or El Capitain that represent the ultimate challenge, draw one to them making the pulse beat a little faster.

Edging around the side of the cliff.....

.....and topping out. Finding the cliff was an interesting start to my explorations for the day and created some unexpected excitement for me.

At the top of the cliff there was an open forest, mostly of small balsams, and a great deal of moss on top of the rock cap. The space created by the trees, moss and sunlight was breath taking.

The reasons for wanting to do this bushwhack is to return to the forest in a purposeful way,  to relax in it and move through it quietly without an agenda, without any pretense. I have to admit that I know little about the forest inspite of all the time I've spent in it. Learning about the forest requires patience and insight and being able to slow down and savor it. I can run up mountains as fast as I can go which is fun and relaxing. On this trip I want to go slowly. I think it will take 3-4 days, maybe longer. It's only about 25 miles and some of the bushwhacking will be relatively easy while some of it will be slow and painstaking, naturally. 

To help us get oriented I'll use this photo I took from North Kinsman on Friday, July 5th. The arrow points at Big Coolidge Mt. (3294 ft. asl) with its long southwestern ridge running down to the right and a deep notch to the left. You can see the patterns of conifer forest areas and the hardwood areas (lighter green). From that notch up to the summit of Mt. Flume which is right next to Mt. Liberty, the two high points on the left, you can see those patterns of darker and lighter greens. I was trying to stay in the hardwoods, the lighter green. Behind the arrow is Tripyramid with Osceola just to the right of the arrow, Mt. Hitchcock lower and to the right, and Sandwich Dome to the right of that. Carrigain is peeking over the ridge to the left of Liberty and Flume. 

Working my way up out of the notch towards the upper ridge.

The hike reminded me a lot of my climb up Mt. Osseo last October (2012) in a variety of ways. The diversity of vegetation was one, terrain was another, the exposure was similar so the light was also the same, and the height. Osseo is only 300 feet higher than Big Coolidge.

I was amused by my proclivity to see "evidence" of human activity. Often there were features that were similar to trails, at least for short distances, that I immediately responded to and that made me feel less lonely even though the entire effort I was engaging in was to get away from the very thing. We are creatures of habit. At any rate I was back in the coniferous zone but at this point it was open. There was a lot of digging and clawing with feet and hands to get up through the soft duff and I often slipped backwards two steps for each step I climbed. In the hardwood areas I was amazed at the depth of the leaf litter which in some places was a foot.

A key thing to remember is that this forest, the forest ecosystem we're looking at in the White Mountains today, is the replacement for the forest ecosystem that was here for a very long period of time, perhaps as long as 10,000 years, but was then destroyed in a few hundred years. The modern forest has only been here for perhaps 100 to 200 years and is still "young" and in a constant state of transitioning. The old forest was a legacy of the massive ice sheets that covered this part of the world for hundreds of thousands of years and only ablated 11,000 years ago. The new forest, in striking ways, is a legacy of that old, post-glacial forest ecosystem. We don't have an exact history of the old forest and where it was in its development. Was it vibrant and healthy, or was it past its climax and in decline? We have an idea of some of the changes in the land and climate and the adaptations and succession that occurred when some species died off and other species moved here. We have a good idea of how climate changes impacted the entirety of that vast forest ecosystem that stretched across the continent. We know the history of the "modern" forest pretty well. Scientific documentation of the post-glacial forest began with the first European "contact" between 1500 and 1600 by navigators like Jacques Cartier and Samuel de Champlain. Both these individuals were notable for making scientific observations: transcribing invaluable descriptions offered by natives, collecting, identifying, and describing specimens of much of the flora and fauna of the northern forest. Much of the forest witnessed by Verrazanno, Champlain,  Cartier, and others, particularly the natives of that period, is gone. It disappeared in the blink of an eye. That the modern forest has survived its first 100-200 years is certainly cause for celebration. I hope it's still here, still evolving, 9,900 years from now.

This is what takes the wind out of your sails. I carried and briefly used a bike helmet and the kind of  knee pads used by roller derby competitors to make crashing through this forest web a little more feasible.

Or this. This is actually easier to negotiate. It reminded me of the bushwhack on Mt. Deception two years ago and is typical of what the upper west-facing ridges look like generally--a lot of wind damage. When I see this I remember the hard work of the early trail builders here in the Whites and remain in awe of what they accomplished with hand tools.

This is what finally stopped me. It was hot, I was tired. To make it worse I was carrying 5 quarts of water; two for me on the hike and three to drop that I could pick up on later on the bushwhack to save time and energy. I drank two and drained the others before descending.

At any rate I had reached my turn-around time and was ready to head back down after a casual lunch which was when I consumed one of the water bottles and the water came pouring out of the pores in my skin as if I was a sieve.

I altered my return course to explore more to the north and west of my two ascents. I found it easier heading due West course but it was not exactly from the starting point I wanted. I might have to compromise on that. The woods were stunning in the early afternoon light. In the valley it was in the 90s all day but under the heavy foliage (healthy foliage) it was much cooler.

I stopped often to listen and watch. This photo is static. It's frozen within an instant of time. Sitting there, though, was to be aware of movement, particularly the bright shards of flickering sunlight that were animated by the wind combing through the leaves in the upper canopy. Added to that was the movement of birds and insects and the trees themselves. Peachy.

8-24-12 Gale River Research Site

Friday morning I was on the Gale River Trail heading up to my small research site on the 1955 landslide track to gather data but mostly to just look around. I've been trying not to disturb the site too much and staying off it but the leaves will be coming down soon and I wanted to get a few measurements before they add another layer of new organic matter to the partially decayed humus  already there.

Being Friday I had the trail to myself most of the day and it was a perfect hiking day.

Fern shadow on the trail.

Hop, skip, jump. First crossing on the Gale River. I took the "old" trail that threads along beside the river between first and second crossing to see what, if any, impact Hurricane Irene had on the trail and to see what a year of off-use impacted it as well,

Sunlight and shadows on the rocks. As I've said many time first crossing is a unique place in the hut system. In the 1960s the Gale River Trail was longer, almost out to Route 302 and there was another river crossing near the present trail head so, in those days, this was second crossing and about half way between the road and the hut and where the feeling of "remoteness" from the rest of the world began to sink in. It was a good feeling.

 You can see how intimately this old section of trail (on the left) followed the course of the river. For almost a mile, as you hiked, you got to listen to the river and be carried along by its mood on that particular day. The light was the magical part because, for some of the day, the sunlight became animated as it shimmered from the water into the surrounding trees so that sense of "bathing" in that light was literal.

This is second crossing and hikers having difficulties crossing here in high water is the primary reason the trail was rerouted recently. The trail crossed here because the logging road the trail followed crossed here. The configuration of the river bed creates a turbulent flume in high water that can be intimidating and for a few days during the spring run-off is impassable at this particular place. A number of hikers, including some groups, have had to look for other places to cross and, in a few cases, done so with difficulty.

And who do I run into a few yards above second crossing? Johannes Griesshammer (on the left) all the way over here from Tuckerman Ravine shelter where he's Caretaker for a short while longer. Tom Callahan, on the right, is Galehead Hutmaster for the fall season (unitl mid-October). What a great coincidence. When I took out my camera I overheard Johannes comment to Tom, "Oh boy, I knew this was coming!" I now have quite a portfolio of snapshots of Johannes from the last five years, or so.

Stairway to paradise. Actually, it's also a stairway up onto the debris track left by a massive landslide that came down off Mt. Garfield at approximately 3 pm (give or take an hour) on August 28, 1955 during Hurricane Connie.  If you've been reading the blog for awhile you know about the research I've been engaged in here for the past 4 years the purpose of which is to determine as accurately as possible how long it takes for reforestation to occur after a major perturbations such as a landslide, major storms, and/ or glaciation that are "natural" and perturbations caused  by humans during the last 300-400 years including acid rain, clear cutting (logging), and fires particularly those associated with logging.

The west side of North Twin, above the Gale River, from the slide track. The foliage colors are beginning to change and it won't be long before the leaves of mountain ash and white birch will be raining down across the trails.

This boulder sits on top of the old slide and is one feature that stands out in photos I have of the bare slide track taken in the 1960s. The boulder is an important reference point.

The ground cover in study plot #2 appears to be unchanged. I discovered human foot prints (not mine) from some time in the past 2-3 months in the plot, along with old pieces of kleenex-type tissues which could disturb the research. Otherwise, the soil-depth measurements showed consistency as does the type and percentage of ground cover. I collected more tree measurements (diameters at breast height, or DBHs) as I continue to get a reasonably accurate figure for the biomass content in this plot.

Looking uphill in plot #2. There is signature, or what you would call the "expected norm" in the variety of tree cover that includes balsam fir,  red spruce, poplar, and white birch. Ground cover includes hair cap and spahgnum moss, evergreen wood fern, hobble bush, and bracken fern with a few striped maples also present. This year there are a few mushrooms, but not as many as last year.

2011 litter with tissue paper. The accrual process is slow. One has to be like nature and be patient with the process. Some studies indicate a 2-4 year integration process but at this altitude (2,900 feet) in this region and in this specific site the actual time of leaf decomposition varies enormously across the specie type, the exact location of the samples (in shaded areas, on a slope, etc). The woody material takes longer. I go out of my way not to expose or disturb the top-most soil layer for instance I take soil measurements with a thin plastic graduated probe.

Another sample that includes 2 year-old leaf litter with coarse woody material.

The LBM, or "little brown mushroom", in this photo is a little smaller than my thumb and it caught my eye in the slant of light coming through the hair cap moss.

Hobble bush berries.  A favorite menu item for resident fauna.

While taking the photo of the hobble bush berries I was simultaneously stung by two white tailed hornets on my forearm. It's one of the most painful stings I've ever experienced. I imagined that it was similar to getting shot. I was a hundred feet from the trail and I quickly went over signs of shock (heart rate, etc), looked to see if I had disturbed a nest in which case I might get stung some more, and walked back to the trail where my pack was. My arm swelled rapidly and got very hot. It itched unbelievably. I soaked my arm in the river for several minutes which helped. After 30 minutes I went back and retrieved the equipment I'd dropped and resumed work. I must have  pushed the camera's exposure button while getting stung.

The western boundary of study plot #1 runs up the Gale River Trail for a bit.

To the right of the trail in this photo is study plot #3 which is the anomaly of all the plots due to  1.) the lack of soil, 2.) the density of the tree growth, and the 3.) slowness of growth. This was the flat area at the bottom of the slide where vegetation returned immediately after the slide. On the upper slope cherry and alder returned within a year or two. In this flatter area the balsam firs came back in force, growing in a dense, tight cluster just as you see them here. There is no appreciable soil development in this plot. There is a very thin humus layer over the sand and gravel that was left here by the slide. The trees average 2.3 inches DBH. One of two poplars have managed to grow here and have reached nominal size but the balsams remain stunted. A lot of the plants you see are dead. In this plot there's the large question, applying to the forest generally, of where seed stocks came from so soon after the slide. Were they contained in the soil already and were triggered by exposure to light, etc, after the slide? The sheer number of individual plants, mostly balsam fir, is staggering and similar to what we see throughout the forest after a perturbation of any kind.

A pancake sized fungi.

This fellow introduced himself as Michael Sweeny and I asked because I was admiring his GPS which was clipped to the chest strap on his pack. He explained that he was trying to locate and explore sites mentioned on old maps. For instance, today he was looking for Hawthorne Falls which is located on a tributary of Gale River coming down from Mt. Garfield and not far from the slide. A trail that paralleled the stream and visited the falls existed until 50 years ago when it was abandoned. From time to time hut croo have located the trail and visited the falls which are quite lovely. I was last there in 1996 and the trail was still traceable. At any rate, Micheal was going to try and establish a GPS reading for the falls. I'm going to check in with him via email to see if he was able to find the old trail.

They're on their very first overnight, backpacking trip ever and heading over to the Mt. Garfield tent site for the night!

Second crossing on the way down. From this angle you can "see" where the logging road crossed here. Often winter ice and snow packs in to make almost a level crossing here that is perfectly safe to walk on with snowshoes until the spring thaw. It's conceivable that the loggers were able to get their log sleds across here with out a bridge. I don't remember hearing of, or seeing a bridge here.

Just a few feet above the Gale River Trail and the river itself you'll find this remnant of the logging road that swung around the north end of North Twin and extended high up on the ridge between Garfield and South Twin. You can follow it most of the way.

There was a little bit of debris, possibly from Hurricane Irene, but the old trail segment was still in good shape not that I'm overtly encouraging anyone to use it. The Forest Service wants hikers not to use it, but the newer segment that stays on the west bank of Gale River is humorless. It has none of the beauty, the surprises, the lyricism, the poetry, the humor of this now "old" trail. The "new" trail is bland in comparison.

First crossing in afternoon sunlight.

Looking up stream at first crossing at the two large rocks on opposite sides of the river reminds me that in the 1970s and up thru the 1990s there was a bridge across the river built there by the Forest Service.

This is the only photo I have of the bridge (towards the right bank of the river in the photo above)  but it was solid and high above the water. It was cabled securely but got washed away in one of the spring floods and was not replaced. Plans were already being made for relocating the trail.

First crossing in winter. It was definitely tricky getting across the ice, but the best trails have some surprises for us, challenges; obstacles that we have to deal with. Relocating the trail completely away from the river takes away its essential character, removes it from our senses, our desire to be surprised and challenged by life. If you make everything easy, effortless, how will we learn to think for ourselves? Learn at all? How will we navigate through life? Thoughtlessly? Asleep? We strive and strive for more and more conveniences. We are all about convenience these days. Drone aircraft that can kill an unknowing individual with precision! Horror! Where is the beauty in what we are crafting now?

In January 1994 I set up a camp on the river bank across the Gale River at first crossing and fasted and meditated there for two weeks (a Vipassana-type sitting). There was no snow that January, just dustings now and then, and for a number of the nights the moon was full. Sometimes the moon was shining in full but snow was falling in flurries, perhaps blown from the high ridges. Ice muted the river. I in silence for those 12 days, a wonderful silence, and came down the mountain feeling awe.  I had felt a sense of place there and my usually anxious mind was quieted by the utter simplicity of that experience; surrounded by the beauty mirrored in that place that's reflected in me. 

It's so easy when what you are looking for is the summit, the acknowledgment of success, reward, satisfaction, and to forget where you've been, what you've missed, what you didn't see, or didn't know, but in these trees, these woods along the river, is a whole history of us, of the world. We are really just stumbling along, half seeing, frightened, anxious, not really satisfied because what we hope for is so ephemeral. The woods, the mountain, the river are real and connected as one for all of time. How long will we be here?

The long walk out, once you're past first crossing, can seduce you into a light psychosis in which time becomes fluid. It's easy to forget even what year it is. Or where you're going. Tom and his sister, Meagan, were on their way back up to Galehead. I went and got a big, big dish of Red Rasberry ice cream.