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Sunday, November 16, 2008
Mt. Washinton high in the back, Mt. Willey on the left and Mts. Lowell, Anderson, and Nancy in right foreground, looking east from Mt. Carrigain
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Willey Range, looking north from Carrigain, August, 2008
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Looking west (top) to the Franconias, and (bottom) northwest across the Pemigewasset Wilderness towards the Twins
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The WMNF had been envisioned earlier than 1906 by groups seeking forest reserves strictly for conservation and recreation. Their push to get the government to buy and set aside large tracts of land in the East had been galvanized by the destructive forest fire in what is now the Pemigwasset Wilderness in 1907. Creating the WMNF was the dream of these so-called “recreationists”,during the painful years when they witnessed the all-out destruction of the “majestic forests” of the White Mountains by logging moguls like James Everell Henry and were powerless to stop it. They witnessed horrific fires ravage the same forests in August 1886, May 1903 and August 1907, fires that were exacerbated by the logging industry’s cost cutting silvacultural practices that included leaving ‘slash’ on the ground where trees were cut.
Looking southwest across the Hancocks to Mt. Moosilauke, August 2008
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The conservation-recreation alliance 100 years ago consisted of the AMC, which was founded in 1888 and created out of preexisting affiliations of White Mountain ‘groupies’, a strong contingent of mountain denizens in Randolph, NH, who formed the Randolph Mountain Club (RMC) in 1910 to address the enormously destructive logging occurring on the north slope of the Presidential Range. Many of the RMC members were also members of the AMC and vice versa. In addition, a founding member of the AMC, the famous path maker and meteorologist, J. Rayner Edmands, helped create the Society for the Preservation of New Hampshire Forests in 1901. Those organzations along with outing clubs and organization devoted to hiking and camping associated with colleges and universities and summer camps were also part of the loosely knit alliance that became a strong lobbying entity for the creation of the WMNF as it was directed primarily at unsavory logging practices.
Sandwich Range, looking south from Carrigain, August 2008
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Whitewall Brook, at Zealand Falls, August 2008
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Water is astounding! It’s lovely and magical (in most contexts) and it’s essential to life. It’s a simple compound of hydrogen and oxygen, gases for all of that, combined to make this liquid that magically gives life to this planet. It joins every living thing to every other living thing, and, in turn, connects them to this earth. We can’t live without it nor can any plant or animal. Our bodies contain ridiculous amounts of water. What is it?…65 or 70 percent of our body mass, a lot, anyway. So our bodies need water but so do our souls, our hearts, our minds. Water replenishes us and it inspires us. When I look at this picture of Whitewall Brook tumbling down the granite ledges by Zealand Falls Hut, swirling through smooth, polished, bathtub-sized pot holes, leaping down the falls I remember how I used to play in water for hours as a child, mesmerized, totally engrossed in a timeless world. As kids in North Conway we used to play by the Saco on summer days. My chums and I would go in mid-morning with one of our mums. We’d swim and jump from rope swings but later we would hunker down and build these wonderfully elaborate ‘villages’ with slender twigs of oak and white pine. We’d build bridges and elevated roads and houses and the river would flow under them and around us all day. The sun would swing across the sky. Then a parent would yell that it was time to go and I would whine bitterly (one of my great talents) and say “We just got here!” only to be told that hours and hours had passed.
A lacey waterfall in Madison Gulf, the Peabody River catchment, June 2008
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The phrase "taken otherwhere in song" was a swipe at Tennyson for his perpetual references to "bubbling brooks" which raised the hackles on Frost's neck.
Hyla Brook
By June our brook's run out of song and speed.
Sought for much after that, it will be found
Either to have gone groping underground
(And taken with it all the Hyla breed
That shouted in the mist a month ago,
Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)--
Or flourished and come up in jewel-weed,
Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent
Even against the way its waters went.
Its bed is left a faded paper sheet
Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat--
A brook to none but who remember long.
This as it will be seen is other far
Than with brooks taken otherwhere in song.
We love the things we love for what they are.
Robert Frost
Spring Pools
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods --
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.
Robert Frost
Walker Brook on Mt. Lafayette, November 2008
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19 Mile Brook, on the trail to Carter Dome, October 2008
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19 Mile Brook, Cater Dome trail, October 2007
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Monday, November 3, 2008
Snow falling on beech leaves
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