[at-l] Clear Skies

["Ern & Anneke Grover" <ern@ticktock.bizhosting.com>]

Clear Skies
Setting:  Champney Falls, Mt. Chocorua 9/18/1999

As the last rays of warmth from the setting sun abandoned us, we surrendered
our comfort for the evening chill.  Champney Falls was a boil of impressive
cascades after the rains of hurricane Floyd.  Faithful Buddy and I sat on a
large boulder looking down at the last of the evening hikers.  A chilly
breeze swept up from the falls below laden with moisture.  My sheepskin vest
seemed out of place for September, but it definitely offered cozy comfort at
this time.

"Yahoo!" An echo came from below our overlook.

Out of curiosity I had to find out who the "yahoo-er" was.  The descent was
slippery, so I made each step with purpose.  Tucked away behind some fallen
birches from Ice Storm 98, there was a couple enjoying the splendor of
Pitcher Falls.  They stood beneath the thundering waters trying desperately
to keep their clothing from being stripped from their bodies.

I can remember back three or four years ago when I stood beneath Pitcher
Falls.  We'd camped nearby.  It was particularly hot that morning, so I
dressed in my camp shorts for the day.  I removed my boots and tiptoed to a
flat rock beneath the 70-foot waterfall.  The water hit my body so hard.  I
can only remember my hiking shorts being torn from my waist.  Buddy crouched
nearby with both paws over her eyes.

"Oh, Master, how could you!"  Obviously one paw had slipped a little to
reveal a prying eye.  Fortunately it was too early for two-legged onlookers
to be gawking.

Sunny treetops on the ridge of Blue Mountain on the Middle Sister Trail
contrasted against the darkened valley at Champney Falls.  We made camp in a
tiny clearing well off the trail and close to the stream that feeds Pitcher
Falls.  My stove wouldn't work, so I gathered some dry wood to make a small
cooking fire.  Finding rocks was no problem.  After all, this was New
Hampshire.  The warmth from the fire was soothing, the smoke, for the first
time, was drifting away from my sleeping bag and pack, and there would soon
a bed of coals on which I could cook.  Buddy and I shared some wild rice
with chopped celery, onions, tomatoes, hot peppers, peas, mushrooms and
seasoning.

I played a couple of songs on my harmonica for Buddy, but she was
unimpressed as usual.  The three sticks of wood on the fire would be
sufficient to take the chill out of the air for a few more minutes, and then
I'd turn in for the night.

The half-moon shone through the clear evening sky and illuminated the
standing birches.  As if they were reflecting a disco black light, the white
trunks came alive and swayed in the light chilly breeze, and their tiny
green hands applauded the oncoming slumber of the night.  Already I could
see my breath, and my pack thermometer affirmed my suspicions.  It was only
10 o'clock, but the temperature had already dropped to 35 degrees.  Our
breath froze in mid-air and reminded us of the following months of plunging
temperatures.  Even so, it was easier to keep warm than to keep cool, so I
welcomed this refreshing change.

The North Star was directly overhead, and those companions of my beacon
shimmered and twinkled in an almost hypnotic manner.  I couldn't remember a
sky as clear as it was this night.  It was as though I could reach out and
touch each little speck of light and hold it between my thumb and
forefinger.  As I studied many constellations, my eyelids soon closed, and I
was fast asleep.

Something was crawling on my face around three o'clock.  It might have been
a worm that fell from a branch overhead; nevertheless I was wide-awake.  I
could have fallen asleep again except for the "call of nature".  As was my
custom, I did nothing but to hope the urge would go away.  By six o'clock
the treetops were alive with a circus of squirrels and chipmunks, singing
birds and a lone woodpecker in the distance.  Reluctantly I crawled out of
my feathered womb and put on my cold, damp boots.

Buddy soon joined me, gave me a morning kiss and tried to help me get
dressed.  The only thing I wanted at this time, more than anything else, was
a cup of hot coffee.  I managed a small fire and added three or four sticks
atop the feeble flames.  It would be best not to have a big fire, in spite
of the warmth it would offer.  I didn't wish to spend a precious hiking hour
by hauling water to put out the fire.  A bed of coals invited my little
Italian coffeepot.  I'd already put water in the bottom compartment and
coffee in the filter chamber the night before.  It was all set!  I starred
at the pot and hoped it would finish soon.

"Howwwwllllll.  Howwwwllllll,"  Buddy bayed.  I could hear voices too.
Buddy was first to investigate, and I followed her as quickly as I could.
When we arrived at the edge of the falls, there was no one in sight.  They
apparently had made the turn to return to the Mt. Chocorua ascent trail.

I could smell the delicious fragrance of black nectar as it wafted through
the crisp morning air.  My mouth was watering at the thought of strong
coffee passing by my lips and tantalizing my taste buds.  Just as I reached
down to grab the handle, the pot tipped over and put out most of the fire.
The hissing sound wasn't enough to drown out my cries for revenge, but I
refrained from throwing the coffeepot.  I'd used all the coffee, so there
was no use to refill the pot with water.  There was a simple lesson here.
"Ern, don't leave the coffeepot under any circumstances, even if ten hyenas
were laughing at you out at the falls."

Apple cinnamon oatmeal was already sliding down the hatch.  A healthy dose
of water extinguished what remained of the fire.  I was still fuming about
the loss of the coffee as I packed up the equipment.  The campsite was
cleaner than when I'd arrived, and I'd left a good supply of firewood for
the next camper.  Next I looked for a place to stash my pack.  It made no
sense to carry that up to the summit and back.  My bootlaces were retied, my
walking stick was in my firm grip, and my trusty Buddy hound was at my side.
I let her have eight feet of slack on her retractable leash.

We made our turn onto the ascent trail to Mt. Chocorua.   It was a familiar
trail we'd hiked many times in past years, but today was the perfect fall
day for climbing.  There was a gentle breeze, the sun was warm and the water
was plentiful.  Aside from some muddy spots at the Jim Liberty Trail
intersection, the trail was in perfect condition.  We spent an hour or so at
the summit while eating a mid-morning snack of trail mix.  The mountaintop
was deserted, so we could enjoy the solitude of the crisp, blue skies and
the screech of an occasional hawk flying beneath us over Three Sisters.

As soon as we began our descent, the endless stream of day hikers greeted
us.  I'd say my "Hello, nice day" to each new face, while Buddy would give
them her special "nose in the crotch" inspection.  Dogs are embarrassing!
As they passed, their huffing and puffing resumed while they made their way
along the switchbacks.

The parking lot and my van without slashed tires and broken windows were
welcome sights.  It was good to sit down and trade my boots for a pair of
well-worn sneakers.  It took only a few minutes for the windows to clear,
but in that brief time, Buddy had already begun to snore.

Again the trees, shrubs and hundreds of wildlife blurred by unnoticed.  The
Swift River flowed backwards now that our feet were replaced by the speeding
horseless carriage.  Somehow it didn't quite fit together.  Do we have to be
in such a hurry as to miss the opportunity to study each tree, trailside
rock and pebble, and the source of each new sound from the forest?  Are we
missing the best of life by trading our tranquil hours in God's creation for
the fast lane of city life?

Chocorua, I promise to return and spend more time with you soon.

Ern Grover
"Sweeter-Rain"
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