“It always reminds me of my mom cleaning the house.”
“That’s funny. It reminds me of going to Rutgers Women’s Basketball games when I was a kid.”
Jeremy and I shared our visceral, sensory memories cruising along to the classic Paul Simon hit, “You Can Call Me Al”, on our way north on Rt. 93 in New Hampshire. Jeremy recalls how his mother would play Simon’s songs while vacuuming and dusting, spreading the fresh scent of lemon and pine sol throughout his campground childhood. For me, the song’s refrain brings me back to the stands of the Rutgers Athletic Center with my mother, listening to the pep band and shaking a red pom-pom while the Women’s Basketball team ran around the court. The song is not a favorite, and if I’m being honest, I’m not even a fan of Paul Simon. I’m told time and time again how great he is, mostly by my father. Still, while I may skip over Me & Julio or Mrs. Robinson, I pretty much always give Call Me Al a listen through, and will tend to bob along to the horns.
Jeremy is an old friend. We met many years ago in a bar in Philadelphia, both as members of the same runnings club– The Raritan Valley Road Runners. I was just joining the club, as a new-to-running, excited half-marathoner while Jeremy was on his way out of the club, and out of the New Jersey area. Still, in the age of Facebook, we stayed connected and managed to meet again in a familiar culture in Boston, MA– at a bar after a run with a new running club. Soon, we were exploring festivals in the city, biking, and sharing beers and family style dinners together and with other club members. Where Jeremy had added the most value to my life, however, is on the trails.
Finding company to conquer the mountain trails with might come easy to some people. Others might prefer total solitude, knowing that sharing the experience would detract from it. Personally, I am stuck in the middle of wanting to share the experience and wanting to keep it selfishly for myself. Finding a trail partner who can bridge those experiences and allow for both in a single day might be the biggest treasure I’ve discovered since starting my journey to summit all 48 4000 footers in New Hampshire. It is merely a gigantic bonus that Jeremy happens to also be beloved by my dog, Sky Girl. There is no human she’d rather see than Jeremy and I daresay she might choose him over some tasty bacon if presented the dilemma of choice.
Driving north on Rt. 93 out of Massachusetts and into New Hampshire really can only mean one thing this time of year– foliage. I’m sure that Autumn is beautiful across many regions in these United States, but I’m damned positive that nothing is quite like New England. As my students would say, Fall is “lit”. As we throttle 80 mph north, looking out and see 5 different shades of orange across a single tree. While cruising north, Jeremy and I were certainly on the hunt for foliage, but we were also on a mission to climb a mountain.
Get these mutts away from me
You know I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore
One way in, one way out. Our plan was simple, straightforward, and predictable. We were heading out to climb Owl’s Head mountain, my final peak in the list of 4000 foot mountains in New Hampshire. We would take the ‘standard route’, via Lincoln Woods, Franconia Brook, Lincoln Brook, Owl’s Head Path, and the herd path bushwhack to the true summit. There, we would celebrate with a beer and a high five before about-facing and heading on out the same way we had come. This hike offered 18+ miles RT of some of the most remote parts of the White Mountains, nestled deep in the heart of the Pemigewasset Wilderness.
Owl’s Head is no Goliath. It sits at a cool 4,025 ft. high, offers no views from the summit nor even a maintained path to the summit. It sits just under it’s flanking ranges– the Twin Range and Franconia Range– almost hiding from their prowess. Owl’s Head is special for it’s quiet, humble seat– situated after 9 miles of hiking, no expansive vistas, no swag or thrills for the peak bagger. And for a mountains of such small stature, it sure is a difficult one. She is truly more David.
A man walks down the street
It’s a street in a strange world
I’ve hiked along sections of the Pemi Loop many times and always stared down into the Colosseum created by the Bonds and Franconia Ridge, which would lie vastly empty without Owl’s Head shooting up out of nothing. Like Mt. Isolation, the mountains is so much lower than it’s towering neighbors that a hiker standing on the summit of Mt. Lafayette would have to bow his or her head in respect to see the crest of Owl’s Head. This mountain eluded me, and I intended on changing that.
He is surrounded by the sound
Singletrack, take me back. Hitting # 48 was just so. After climbing the rock slide and following the foot path, it started to snow. Medium sized, wet flurries were gently falling. The snow made the summit seem even quieter, although perhaps that was just the constant wind drowning out noise. Jeremy and I each cracked open a beer, a DIPA from Lone Pine Brewery called “Tess” (can you tell why I like it?). As people came and reached the summit with us, we shared memories of other hikes, knowledges of other trails, and even another person hitting her 48th. What a remote place to have so much foot traffic.
Perhaps my favorite part of the hike was leaving the summit. I don’t really know how, but a single beer made me quite tipsy. With both the list of the 48 peaks and my inhibitions behind me, I descended the slide in leaps and bounds. My ass hit the rocks once or twice, but they were met with laughter and smiles. We met 2 other descenders on the slide, one of whom shared some of his 100 miler experiences with us. We had passed these gentlemen earlier, but they had abandoned their friend, Frank, who turned for Lincoln Woods when the water crossings got the better of him. At the bottom of the slide, we recovered ourselves and then started to run. With unspoken intentions, Sky, Jeremy, and I raced out of there, running quite bravely over some technical terrain. We were on a mission– find Frank!
Later, when we finally caught up with the elusive hiker, we both gave him an exalted “Are you Frank?? Your friends are coming!” as though we were messengers in a great important battle. Frank turned and looked mildly surprised and muttered something along the lines of “okay, great.” Clearly, he didn’t realize how important this was.
If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal.
I’m finally done. I’ve hiked all 48 of the 4000 footers, joining the ranks of probably thousands of others, and hundreds more who aren’t officially keeping track. This goal was more important to me 4 year ago when I started, and I started this blog in honor of it. I guess this means I can stop hiking, right? Nah, I’ll get Sky Girl her final 2 peaks (Waumbek & West Bond) and then maybe seek some new territory. Perhaps Paul Simon did put it best, I “don’t want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard.”
48 peaks 