I’d been walking a short time, gazing down at my feet
stepping through a golden-yellow layer of recently-dropped birch and aspen
leaves, when it occurred to me that my pace was falling in step with the rhythm
of a tune moving through my mind: Autumn Leaves.
Aside from the obvious reference to my surroundings, the tune set a
comfortable, relaxed pace, a good way to start a hike, and I didn’t mind. I
seem especially prone to getting these ‘earworm’ tunes stuck in my head,
following me for miles while I paddle or hike, and they’re not always so unobtrusive.
Sometimes it’s the last tune on the radio en route to my adventure, but it may
also be a recurring theme, like the instrumental disco anthem that followed me
for much of the Maine coast on our Upwest
& Downeast paddle last year. More and more it seems my earworm tunes
lack lyrics, which I find agreeable enough, especially when this figment of my
imagination drives the constant, multi-pitched ring of tinnitus, another
made-up sound in my head, into submission.
I was headed up the Avalon Trail in Crawford Notch, which is
a bit of a bargain hike to get to a view of the valley. But I was lured by the
proximity of a couple of taller mountains, Mt Tom (4051’) and Mt Field (4340’)
upon whose flanks Mt Avalon (3442’) is situated. Though I wasn’t expecting huge
views from the taller summits, I was in the mood to walk, and it was a warm
sunny day, probably the balmiest we’d see in October.
The tune cycled through my head, mostly drawing from the
version I’d heard the most, from Cannonball Adderly and Miles Davis. I’d never
known the song’s lyrics, but somehow the instrumental versions convey the bittersweet
sense of longing and wistfulness at least as well as any words could. I don’t
know how that works – that a simple tune seems to embody ideas and feelings
without the help of spoken language, but it does. And since a melody is more
universal than lyrics, it seems to apply itself to your surroundings more
readily. The warm day made me more aware of its passing, wistful for all the
summer days now past, and the leaves were probably as bright as they would be
before the next storm knocked them down and the season rounded the corner
toward winter.
I’d been in New Hampshire for about a week and I’d gone for
a couple of other hikes as well. The first was not well-chosen for my first
hike after a summer of paddling and little hiking. I headed up North Twin
Mountain (4761’) with aims of getting over to South Twin (4902’) but I never
quite got into it. It felt like a lot of work. My leg muscles burned with the
uphill effort and I ended up with a headache (perhaps a bit dehydrated?) that
took away from my enjoyment when I got to the summit of North Twin, which was
socked-in by dense clouds. I finally remembered the ibuprofen in my first aid
kit, which helped, but I had to admit I wasn’t really enjoying it, and headed
down after a snack on North Twin.
For my next hike, I lowered my ambitions considerably, and
had a gorgeous warm day. It was the Friday before Columbus Day weekend though,
and the Kancamagus Highway was busy enough that I felt annoyed by the time I
parked at the trailhead for Hedgehog Mountain (2532’).
Despite the tailgating
traffic that jammed all the scenic turn-offs, there were only six cars in the
lot. I’d been to the trailhead before, and had one of those uncertain moments,
unsure if I’d taken this hike before, but if I had, I’d forgotten it well
enough, and it all seemed new and wonderful. You don’t have to go far before
you step atop open ledges for expansive views of the 4000-foot mountains
surrounding this little peak. I only ran into a few other people, but the
trailhead lot was full when I returned, and I resolved to forego hiking until
the weekend was over.
I did, however, drive to southern New Hampshire to buy a
used canoe, and since I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d take a hike up
Monadnock, a small mountain I’d climbed many times in my youth, when I lived in
that area. As I approached the road into the state park though, I saw that it
was closed off by the police – no room for more cars. They were doing me a
favor, since such crowds would drive me nuts. Besides, I wanted to try the new
canoe. In between hikes, I’d been out for a few short paddles, in kayak and
canoe. They’ve been nice, but when I’m in New Hampshire I tend to think more
about hiking.
The highlight of the Mt Avalon Hike was Mt Avalon, even if
it doesn’t feel like much of a summit. There were also some enticing
waterfalls, not far in from the trailhead. Mounts Tom and Field were fine, but
you know you’re at the summits mostly due to the piles of rocks marking them,
with limited views nearby. The top of Mt Avalon feels more like an open ledge
on the side of Mt Field, but has by far the best vantage. A few other hikers
came and went while I sat there, eating my sandwich, watching the cloud shadows
pass over the brilliant patchwork colors in the notch. I could see our red car
parked beside Route 302 down below, and not far away, the bright red roof of
the Mount Washington Hotel. The summit of Mount Washington was shrouded in
clouds, never revealing itself.
I overheard a couple counting the 4000-footer mountains
they’d been up, and I suppose that personal challenge (much like the MITA
30-In-30 Challenge I’d embarked upon over the summer) brings a lot of hikers to
these and other peaks that, while they offer some nice hiking, have
underwhelming views for the effort involved. I joked with the couple that there
was nothing wrong with the views; after all Mt Tom had a nice spruce tree with
some lovely mosses surrounding its base, as cultivated as a terrarium. And of
course there were those piles of rocks. Mt Field had a view of Mt Washington
from a small opening in the trees.
When hiking to mountaintops I often remind myself that Thoreau
wrote in his journal “… It
is remarkable what haste the visitors make to get to the top of the mountain
and then look away from it." It’s just a reminder that there’s more to a
mountain than the view away from it, but it can also be a bit of a rationalization
when you’ve just sweated to a mountaintop and there’s not a lot there that
makes you want to linger. But Mt Avalon’s views were good enough to make
me linger, and for just a little while forget the tune in my head.
Notes:
In addition to AMC’s White
Mountain Guide, I’ve been using AMC’s
Best Day Hikes in the White Mountains by Robert N. Buchsbaum. The book
helps winnow the nearly endless hiking options in the White Mountains down to a
few of the more attractive ones. In addition to the nuts and bolts info in the
White Mountain Guide, there’s a bit of the author’s take on what it’s like to
hike in these spots, why one would want to go up one trail instead of another,
as well as historic background and natural history.
