After leaving the meditation retreat in West Virginia I felt
deserving of decompression from the decompressing
I had done and made a beeline for my old stomping grounds on Long Beach Island,
NJ. Much to my chagrin, Spring was stubbornly refusing to be sprung, but I did
get to catch up with some old friends. After getting the obligatory shot of Old
Barney (Barnegat Inlet Lighthouse) and climbing to the top for a view to kill
for during a rare clear afternoon I figured it was best to beat it out of there
to spend some time with family. Family time in New Jersey was concluded with a ride
on the Staten Island Ferry and a jaunt into NYC with my uncle for an afternoon
of street photography before I continued
farther into the great northeast. That
part of the country where Yankee fans aren't welcome and the winters can be
wicked cold.
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| March Against Monsanto 2013 |
My father and I even braved some of that cold rainy weather
to join in the international rally against Monsanto in Manchester. Although you
couldn't say the turnout was huge by any stretch of the imagination it was
respectable given the circumstances. The message seems to be getting out there if
honking cars and "thumbs ups" are any barometer.
After filling the belly with some home cooking and breaking
my camping gear out of storage it was high time to put it to use, but not
before transitioning my nephew from riding a scooter to riding a skateboard. After
only about an hour of instruction, I dare say, I wish I was that good a skater at
age 5. He was stoked, as was I. My sister and brother-in-law, probably not as
much.
After the family goodbyes I was off to Maine to have a poke
around. Under the watchful eye of the Cape Elizabeth Lighthouse families, pets
and all sorts of people ready for summer to kick in were taking advantage of
the spring warmth for a day at the little beaches along the shore. A little
further north in Portland I visited what appears to be another lighthouse, but
is referred to as a "Head Light". I don't know what it did to deserve
that. The poor thing must have teased to no end while growing up. Maybe it has
both a low and high beam?
At this point I'm as far North and East as I'm prepared to
go, so after a mountain bike ride in Riverland State Park it's time to make a
left and venture west. Crossing back into northern New Hampshire I'm setting up
to do some hiking and camping in the White Mountains. I stopped off in Lincoln
to check in and see if the Rangers can point me in a good direction for some
primitive camping and the envious elder ladies directed me to Lily Pond. One comments that it must be heavenly to just be
able to pick out a place and set up camp. I invite her to come along, but I
wasn't heavenly enough to pick her up. She politely laughed me off.
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| Portland Head Light |
Stopping off at each of the scenic lookouts along the way I
eventually park the van at Lily Pond. Although I didn't see any lilies, there
is a notice that there are two bridges out along snowmobile trail I'm about to
travel along. Not knowing exactly where they are and what sort of inconvenience
it will bring I decided with some intrepidity to forge on. The trail is wet,
very wet. I have a foreboding feeling that without a bridge, a crossing may not
be possible. Fortunately, after arriving at the downed bridge and hunting
around a bit I find that by relocating a few stones strategically I can not
only safely cross the stream, but do so barely getting my socks wet. One bridge
down, possibly another to go? Fortunately I never had to deal with the next
missing bridge, but it didn't get any drier. In fact along the way I was
chuckling to myself how it would be difficult to comply with the rule of not
camping within 200 feet of a trail and/or moving water. As I marched on and the
sun continued to fall my chuckling turned to mocking, then to cursing and
finally to outright civil disobedience. This is untouched natural dense forest.
You basically need a machete if you want to venture off the trail and it's
difficult to even find ground level enough to pitch a tent. Essentially, in the
late spring thaw it's next to impossible to find a spot not resembling a marsh
or having a small stream meandering down it.
I guess the forest fairies had had enough of toying with me
and granted the smallest of plots where I could set up my tent without the aid
of a raft, even if the ground resembled a smaller scale version of the mountain
range, peaks, valleys and all. I figured after an evening of sleeping on that terrain,
either my bad back would be miraculously straightened or I would have to be air
lifted out. At that point I really didn't care since my options were nil and I
had given way too much blood to the mosquitoes, leaving me precariously low and
precluding me from donating anymore for many weeks to come. Possible
alternative names for the White Mountains: Wet Mountains, Marsh Mountains,
Mosquito/Gnat Mountains or Forget About Camping Here in the Spring Mountains!
Things took a turn for the better once I was safely
barricaded in my tent from the onslaught of biters and bloodsuckers. The
evening was pretty pleasant with the depths of outer space putting on a brilliant dance of stars
which was not unexpected like the flashes of light late in the evening which
resembled heat lighting and remain a mystery to me since it definitely wasn't
warm enough for heat lightning.
Which brings me to another mystery: Have you ever wondered
what a sneezing moose sounds like? Me neither until the other night because I'd
swear that is what I heard! It sounded like someone trying to start a chain saw
and repeatedly failing!? Anyway, moose trumps dove, so I consider myself now to
be one up on that little purple proud 'Prince' or 'Artist formerly known as
Prince' who is once again, 'Prince' and his little "crying doves"!
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