"I love those who yearn for the Impossible." ~ Goethe

Some Joseph Campbell on a Tuesday

A Quote From Goethe (Click on image)

A Quote From Richard Bach (click on photo)

Getting Stretched Out On Black Mountain

In baseball, when a relief pitcher is converted into a starter, it cannot be done overnight. The team takes time in stretching out the pitcher, making him stronger, giving him more endurance. Recently, while working on my book proposal for ‘Following Atticus’, my agent, Brian DeFiore, has been doing the exact same thing to my writing. He’s making me think more, open my mind and my heart and tap into the creative spirit. It’s not easy, nor is it painless, but the results are fulfilling and can even be astounding.

My proposal about life with Atticus goes out on Labor Day – when the collective U.S. publishing industry ends its long summer vacation – and publishers will see something different than what I originally set out to write. Much of the transformation has come of late and it has to do with the ability of Brian to ‘stretch me out’. He recognized my book for what it was and it’s no longer just about mountains, a little dog and a middle aged, overweight writer with a fear of heights. But it took my agent to recognize that and get me to embrace it. I was thinking about all this the other day on Black Mountain - the one here in Jackson, not the one close to Moosilauke.

When we reached the summit there wasn’t much of a view. The forest has grown up around the summit rocks and the only way to see Washington, the Wildcats or Carter Dome is to look through and over the lush July foliage. Without much of a view I sat down and opened up my backpack and Atticus and I shared peanut butter crackers. We then both drank some water and after a bit I got up and started walking.

I noticed I was missing something. I looked back to the summit rocks and Atticus was still standing there, looking at me as if I’d forgotten to do something.

I knew immediately what he wanted. I walked back and picked him up as I always do on a summit and he sat in the crook of my arm. He looked out through the trees at Carter Dome. After a minute he turned his gaze to the Wildcats, eventually swiveling his head to see Washington. And there it was – his heavy sigh. And his body relaxed into mine.

I’ve always said that the mountains are my church: the climb is where I confess my sins; the summit is where I take communion. Communion – it’s a wonderful word, isn’t it? The first two definitions from American Heritage are as follows: “the act or an instance of sharing, as of thoughts or feelings; religious or spiritual fellowship.”

That’s the beauty of my little companion. He’s not only good company, there are times he makes me see things in a different way. Holding him in my arm with the setting sun in his eyes, the man-made lenses inserted during cataract surgery were easy to see. I cannot imagine a dog who could possibly appreciate modern technology that allowed him to see again more than he does. Up high, looking out together like that, it’s our own little ‘spiritual fellowship’. Whenever we have this communion between us I cannot help but think of that Saint-Exupery quote: “Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward in the same direction.”

And there we stood ‘looking out in the same direction’ for a long while.

Who would have thought we’d be here now, when seven years ago all I wanted was a dog to replace the one I’d lost? But now we are on a threshold to a very exciting time. Between then and now we’ve been through so much together. Back then I made a living writing a political journal in Newburyport and if you know anything about small town New England politics you’ll understand it was mostly about where man had gone wrong. But because I picked up a little dog, then started following through the woods, we eventually made it to the mountains. One look around from the top of Mount Garfield, our very first peak on September of 2004, and our lives were transformed. I began to see what was right with the world. Politics went out with the trash and we moved north.

Looking back on the confluence of experiences leading us here, I suppose it was all fated to work out this way. As Einstein said, “I refuse to believe that God plays dice with the Universe.” There have been too many things conspiring to bring us to this point in our lives.

And now you can see how just as my agent has recently ‘stretched me out’, that it only took place after a little dog and these great mountains had done the exact same thing.

Which Five Pics Would You Pick?

We're sending out our book proposal to publishers soon and the last step is to include five photos of Atticus. But as you might guess, we have so many of them. We'd love to know which five you'd include. Take the poll to the right (choose five). Polling has now closed. And the top 10 are now placed in order starting with No. 1 in the polling and going down. If you'd like to make a comment, you can do it at the bottom of this post.

Hey, Where Are The Views?

This afternoon Atticus and I hiked Jackson's Black Mountain. Unfortunately, when this little dog got to the summit he gave me this look that said, "Where are the views?" I picked him up so he could see Mount Washington, the Wildcat Ridge and Carter Dome over the trees and - I love this about him - he let out a deep sigh of contentment and gazed out at them until I put him down a few minutes later. He's definitely different.

Some Shots from our Evening Walk Around Jackson

There are two covered bridges in Jackson. On top is the small covered bridge that arcs over the Ellis River in the middle of the Wentworth Golf Club. Below is the Jackson Covered Bridge that leads to Jackson Village.

We live just off the Jackson Loop and only a quarter of a mile from the Wentworth Golf Club. It's particularly pretty in the early morning and just before sun goes down when the light is at its softest.

The Wentworth Inn is a throwback to the days of old when grand hotels were really grand. This is a front and side shot of the main building. There are also several satellite structures.

Across the street from the Wentworth Inn is the Jackson Public Library. It's part of the historic district. Soon it will be replaced by a newer, bigger, more functional structure about a half mile up the road. Not sure what will happen to this building, but I'm sure it will be taken care of since it is in the historic district. The library is so small it doesn't even have a bathroom. Atticus and I have been invited to speak there as guests. Actually, I'll be doing the speaking, while the crowd simply looks at Atticus.

This is the Inn at Jackson. The long sloping lawn and the Adirondack chairs makes me wish I was a guest there and not living less than a mile away.

This is the Ravenwood Curio Shoppe. It's definitely a neat place and was lovingly built by the owner, who lives right next door.
On the other end of the Jackson Loop you get a close-up of the small covered bridge on the gold course.

Simply Tecumseh

This morning, while comparing notes with a friend and book lover on the main character from Rief Larson’s book, “The Selected Stories from T. S. Spivet”: Tecumseh Sparrow Spivet, I told him about my favorite Tecumseh. At 4,003 feet it’s the smallest of the 4,000-footers. And yet whenever I return to climb it, the mountain speaks to me. Strange? To some I suppose it is. But think about something John Muir once wrote: “Society speaks and all men listen, mountains speak and wise men listen.” Here’s what I wrote about Tecumseh a few years ago.

Think of the last carefree moment you surrendered to recently and you will appreciate how we felt while stretched out on two comfortable rocks in the high grass while a mischievous wind played with us under an overcast sky. I sat back and watched Atticus watch the wind. There are times it appears he sees things I cannot, for when the wind blows he follows it as if he can see sprites riding the currents.

On Saturday we were in no hurry so after only a mile on the trail we took the short spur path to the ski slope, took a seat and let our minds wander. Talk of the simplest of joys: A man and his dog---which on this day could just as easily have been a boy and his dog. We were Huck Finn and Jim floating down the Mississippi, me with a long blade of grass stuck between my teeth as if it were a corncob pipe. We just sat there and watched the day pass by as if it were the shores along the mighty Mississippi.

While Atticus sat up and watched the wind and gazed at the Tripyramids I thought of Tecumseh, the man, not the mountain. I thought of him while taking inventory of the clouds and the red berries on the trees and I listened to the song of the wind as it carried the words of the great Tecumseh himself, “When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself.”

I gave thanks. Thanks for that quiet and private moment, thanks for the unhurried day…thanks for this pondering dog.

It’s easy to overlook Mt. Tecumseh, especially while tangled up in the mania of peak bagging or in seeking out the greatest views but there’s something about this mountain that draws me closer. I find rich experiences whenever I take to its trail, walk through its woods, climb to the small summit where I am surrounded by those wonderful trees.

On this afternoon I lay back with my hands behind my head, elbows splayed to the side, not too far up this least notable of the 4,000-footers and listened as the wind continued to sing to us, carrying more words from Tecumseh, “When the legends die, the dreams end; there is no more greatness.”

I love those words. They speak of awe, the importance of this wonderful moment and why I am called to these mountains. Oh, there have been times when I have stumbled and lost track of the beautiful while crossing numbers off a list or in making sure I can cover so many miles or climb so many feet of elevation in a day, but in the end, when I peel back the ego and the ambition, this is what it all comes down to…at least for me. I like the way I feel when I am here.

As a boy the legends of these mountains called to me. When I sat by a stream or around the campfire or slid into my sleeping bag my senses were aroused by the stories whispered in the wind, hidden behind trees just out of sight in the thick woods, floated upon the streams and brooks, and carried from mountaintop to mountaintop. They found their way into my dreams and found a way to stay with me even after I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. And they stayed with me through all those years I stopped coming to the mountains, dormant while awake, seductive while asleep. For years they called to me in my dreams until I returned to the mountains last year and started to walk through the woods, along the streams, and sit atop the mountaintops. Slowly the stories replayed themselves with me, whispers from the wind straight into my heart and I found myself falling in love with these wondrous mountains that continue to awe me, that continue to inspire me.

There is a wonderful term that speaks of the pervading spirit of a special place---genius loci. The Romans believed protective spirits watched over special places. I have no doubt that there is something special that watches over these mountains for I feel the magic of these mountains when I stop and just let myself be, whether it is on Franconia Ridge to watch the sunrise or under cloudy skies on a ski slope on Mt. Tecumseh. In the Whites the genius loci is rich and tangible.

I had a list of much more ambitious hikes to do but on Saturday I relaxed with Atticus and spent a lot of time remembering why I love the mountains. Eventually we left the ski slope and made our way up the trail until we came to the Sosman Trail. We meandered down to the bench and sat there for a while. There were no hurries and no worries on this day. But there was a chill near the top of Tecumseh, enough for me to put on my fleece and my hat. The last time we walked from the bench back to the main trail and up to the summit someone turned out the lights and left us in the dark on my first winter hike. That wouldn’t happen on this day and we enjoyed the views we found through the trees. When we reached the fork in the trail where you can reach the summit by going either left or right, Atticus led the way by choosing left, because it goes uphill and he seems to know we have to go up, at least until we reach the top. After a few minutes we reached the summit and encountered five other hikers. We passed the time in pleasant conversation before starting down on our own.

It was on the trip down that I came to think about why I like hiking alone. As pleasant as each of the people we met on the summit were, as soon as we encountered them and engaged in conversation, the wind, the trees, the mountain, the entire magical sense of place took a back seat and became only a supporting character. My friends think of me as antisocial when I hike alone, but I’m just silly enough to want to hear what the mountain has to say to me and when I’m talking with someone else, it is clear I don’t hear the wind, or the creaking of the trees, or the mountain talking of mysteries or the legends of the hills that don’t always get passed on by words and I am left wanting more.

We didn’t hike much this weekend but one lazy day visiting with Tecumseh seemed to be just what I needed as I awoke once again to the voices of the hills and they will carry me through until I return next week. I pray I will never lose this sense of wonder I find in the Whites.

(Tecumseh is pictured in a spring photo from the Welch-Dickey loop.)

We Thought He Was Bigger

There was some sun yesterday but not much of it. Rain, or the threat of it, was always close by. That’s two and a half weeks of dreariness. So you can imagine the excitement when Atticus and I awoke this morning to blue skies and the puffiest white clouds I’ve ever seen!

We were out the door by 6:00 a.m. and on our hilly 6.6 mile loop. We walked by the Wentworth Golf Club before it woke up, crossed over the Wildcat River on the Stone Bridge, turned left at the post office and walked uphill on Black Mountain Road for a bit more than a mile and a half. Gosh, this uphill sends knives in my low back ever since my falls on Madison, it so steep!

Once we crested the hill at the Christmas Farm Inn my lungs and heart relaxed and the knives came out of my back. The road leveled for a bit and the cool air, so reminiscent of autumn in New England, refreshed us. There are some beautiful homes and stunning views on this road, then a large farm and open fields with North and South Doublehead Mountain ever watchful. We kept walking until we reached the base of Black Mountain. There we turned left onto an Moody Farm Road and blessedly the uphill part our journey was mostly done.

The great thing about walking these country lanes so early in the morning is that we can walk in the middle of the road and if traffic is coming we can hear it approaching in the distance. After a mile or so that road ended and we turned left on Carter Notch Road, following the Wildcat River and the pastoral beauty of back road beauty. When we came to the stately spread of the Eagle Mountain House, one of the biggest inns here, we started to encounter a few people.

The Eagle Mountain House has its own golf course, just across the street. The scenery is beautiful, but it’s clear the course is nowhere near as nice as the Wentworth’s. Just down the street on the right that is the smaller but quaint Carter Notch Inn. Once beyond this we were home free. We walked downhill next to the cascading Jackson Falls while looking up at the prominence of North Moat off in the distance. After the falls we walked by a few folks out on the porch of the Wentworth Inn (the town’s second biggest inn), the antique library and the old white church.

We stopped, as we do most every morning, at the J-Town Deli. I got the paper and I also got an iced coffee and we ordered a sesame bagel to share. (I do miss Abraham’s Bagels in Newburyport. There’s nothing quite like it up here. Perhaps there’s nothing quite like Abraham’s anywhere other than on Liberty Street in Newburyport.) John and Genn have owned the J-Town Deli for the last four years and they are a friendly couple who makes everyone feel welcome. That includes Atticus, who more often than not is offered a dog biscuit.

We sat at one of the outside tables and a caravan of hikers who stayed in one of the local inns soon arrived. When they were coming out, one of the women stopped and asked if she could pet Atticus.

“Atticus, go say hello,” I told him. While he was bouncing over to say hello, she got an excited look on her face.

“Oh my God, is that THE Atticus? The mountain climber?”
“Yes.”

“We were talking about him at dinner last night.” She paused. A surprised look came on her face. “We thought he’d be much bigger.”

“Nope. What you see is what you get.”

She told the other members of her party who it was she was petting and before too long a digital camera appeared and photos were snapped. At the end the woman asked if she could pose with Atticus. But when she got to close to him he pulled away from her. When she promised to keep her hands to herself he returned as sat next to her and more photos were taken.

Then it was back home to write – first a couple of letters, then a new chapter. This is a good life. All we’re missing the one we both love. When she’s home again, we’ll be a family.

(Photo of Wentworth Golf Club and the small covered bridge is taken from Jackson Chamber website.)

The Cost of Celebrity? No Sunglasses for the Little Guy

Over the past two weeks I received emails from readers wondering just what did happen on the Pine Link Trail. Folks were kind to be concerned about us and I was inconsiderate in not posting a quick follow-up to my original post. Once again, I want to thank those who contacted me. But there’s one I wanted to address and I asked the author of it if I could publish it on the blog.

John Sobetzer was kind enough to give the go ahead. John hikes with his young miniature schnauzer, Pepper. They’ve already done the 48 4,000-footers together and they continue to hike, as you will see in his email.

We first met John and Pepper on the Southern Presidentials last year and we had a nice chat. Occasionally we touch base by email and I’m sure when our hiking schedule picks up in the late summer, there’s a good chance we’ll run into them again.

Unfortunately, as John points out, there are some out there who think Atticus is still blind. I’m not sure why this is as most have kept up with his trials and tribulations and the successful cataract surgery. Either way, it’s not the first time I’ve heard this rumor about Atticus so this is as good a time as any to repeat that the cataract surgery he had two years ago was very successful. He sees just fine now.

Perhaps it’s the price of celebrity. At least now I know when he hits the big time when ‘Following Atticus’ is published and we’re on tour, I’ll have to tell him he’s not allowed to wear sunglasses so many of today’s stars don. People wouldn’t think he was cool, they’d just think he was blind.

Hi Tom:

I'm waiting in suspense to hear what it was that was more than you and Atticus bargained for. Don't wait until the fall season to end the cliff hanger.

I say this because I got a huge scare while hiking the Hancocks last Saturday. I didn't run into anyone until I was hiking down from the last peak and then several groups in a row saw Pepper, and then asked me if I knew Atticus. I said I had the distinct honor or seeing him and you last year and we talked briefly about him. But the last guy looked at me and said he had hiked with you and then added when referring to Atticus: "You know he's blind. It's so sad."

Argh. I couldn't believe it. Not again. My heart sank.

I thought about your web page and feared that is what you were referring to. But then my mind started to work and I pressed him on when he had last seen you, hoping it had been prior to the time when Atticus had been so sick. As he tried to remember I cut in and said: "Is this something that just happened in the past couple of weeks or is it from a while ago?" He said the latter and a wave of relief came over
me.

After we finished our discussion I gave Pepper some extra attention and the two of us bounded down the trail, suddenly happy once again.

Atticus' story touches all dog lovers and your web page shares it. But it is an ongoing adventure and these cliffhangers can be scary.

John Sobetzer & Pepper

Trouble on Mount Madison

My apologies for not following up the last post in a timely manner. All is well with Atticus and me, so please do not worry. I thank those of you who have written in to make sure we are okay. I’ve been preoccupied with the book and finishing up the proposal for my agent.

On our hike up the Pine Link Trail, I did encounter more than I was ready for. It was an off day and I struggled from the beginning of the hike. We got an early start to beat the heat, but not as early as I would have liked. In the first half mile I felt dehydrated and the thick foliage of the forest seemed to hold the heat and humidity in. My head grew hot, my ears were burning and I drank as much as I could. I kept waiting to hit stride and find a rhythm but that wasn't happening. Some hikes start out a bit rough, but your body catches up with you. But that would not happen as we climbed up the trail on this day.

I knew I was in trouble when we got to the second outlook and looked up at the summit of Madison. It was only a mile and a half away but it looked more like it was 15 miles away. When your head plays tricks on you like this it is a sign of fatigue. And yet we continued on.

Atticus was doing well and showing none of the signs of wear and tear I was so the problem wasn’t so much with the day or the trail but with me. This surprised me since up to this point in the season I’ve been hiking much faster than I was last year. I’ve literally been flying over the mountains compared to previous years - something I attribute to the herbs I've been taking. But on the Pine Link Trail I suffered more than I ever have in any spring or summer hike.

When we merged with the Howker Trail we sat in the shade for a bit and ate something. Atticus kept looking at me with a cocked head. This is atypical of him, so I suppose I should have taken it as a sign that I wasn’t looking all that good but I was feeling well enough to trudge on. And that's exactly what this hike turned into - a trudge.

Meanwhile the black flies and the mosquitoes had made a meal out of me that day. They were as bad as I’ve ever experienced them. The black flies were in my eyes, nose, ears and mouth. I had placed my bandanna under my sunglasses so it would shield my mouth and nose but they still found the openings. Even bug juice would not keep them off my arms or legs. At one point I looked down at my legs and saw a lot of blood. I was not cut, it was simply from all the bugs I had killed.

The further we went the more breaks I had to take. It felt like I was spending more time hanging over my trekking poles than I was walking. Eventually we made it over treeline and the sun was beating down on us. Off in the distance rescue helicopters played their haunting song looking for the 70-year old hiker they would never find. I hate this sound, it's like a banshee song and I think the worst whenever I hear it.

We rock hopped above treeline and after a short while I took a nasty fall. My head and neck snapped backwards and I hit a rock. I sat and took inventory. The summit was not too far away but I was getting a little weak. My goal was to make the summit of Madison, continue down to the hut and then rest there and drink as much water as I could before our return trip. However, I fell a second time, this time landing on my back. I didn’t dare move for fear that I’d done some damage. Atticus was soon upon me, looking down at me and I could see visions of him circling me like you’d see in cartoons. This was not good. I waited and slowly moved each body part to make sure I was doing okay.

The two falls were uncharacteristic for me and a sign of my dehydration. Then when I checked the color of my urine I knew I was battling dehydration. It should have been clear but it was almost brown. Not a good sign.

We were less than half a mile from the summit when I decided that while I may be able to make the summit, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to get back down again. It was decision time.

For the first time ever in a non-winter hike, I turned back shy of the summit.

The return trip took forever. I stumbled continuously but never fell. But poor Atticus, with each stumble I took, his head would snap around and he’d come running back as if he was going to catch me before I tumbled once again. Good dog.

The Pine Link Trail has some very steep sections and I struggled with them. There were many times when I just had to sit down and let my head stop spinning. At one point I even lay down and closed my eyes and fell asleep. I awoke with a start - Atticus was tucked up beside me with his head on my chest.

I am happy to report that while the hike down was painfully slow, we eventually made it back to the house (only a 14 mile ride) just fine. I climbed into a cold shower and then went to bed where I slept like a drunkard.

It took a few days for me to find my center again and we haven’t hiked since, although that has more to do with the rainy weather and concentrating on the book than anything else at this point. We’ve been doing some longer road walks on the back streets of Jackson and I’m happy to report that other than a few back spasms, I’m fine. The climb up the Carter Notch Road is a steep one and the loop we’ve been doing is actually tougher than some of the mountain hikes we’ve done.

I cannot say for sure what did me in that day, but it just goes to show you that even when you are feeling strong and fast, bad things can happen on a mountain. In the end, a hiker is responsible for getting himself to safety and that’s what I did. As the great climber Ed Viesturs has simply but elegantly stated, “Getting to the top is optional, but getting back down is mandatory.” This is not just true for the likes of Everest; it’s also true for a mountain like Madison.

We will be returning to the trails as soon as the weather improves.

Yesterday on the Pine Link Trail...

we encountered more than I bargained for. Story to come.

Fat Man Gets Ready To Roll

You've no doubt heard of the Old Man of the Mountains. Well, meet Dave Olson, self-proclaimed "Fat Man of the Mountains."

This weekend, Dave, the editor of the Salem (MA) Evening News, starts his quest to hike all 48 of the 4,000-footers in the 90 days of summer. He’s using it as a fundraiser for Kestrel Educational Adventures.* He'll be joined on many of his hikes by his teenage son, Luke, a budding photographer.

Atticus and I first ran into Dave and Luke last summer on the Champney Falls Trail on the way up Mount Chocorua. They were a pleasure to talk with and the father and son bond between them was enjoyable to see. (Actually they appeared more like friends than family.) I enjoyed the brief interaction we had with them on the trail, and then later again on the summit.

When I discovered Dave’s blog this spring, I had no trouble remembering them. Soon after seeing it we ran into them again on South Moat.

Knowing what I went through four years ago when first hiking the 48 in 11 weeks, I can relate to the quest Dave is about to embark on. I’m hoping it is as rewarding for him as it was for me. It’s one thing to hike 48 peaks; it’s something entirely different to force them all into a short time period like the 90 days of summer. The intensity of the schedule makes it all the more intoxicating and it is hard not to become obsessed.

I have an idea of what Dave is about to go through. I was the editor of my own paper when I did it and working in the news business has a tendency to give you a bird’s eye view of the shortcomings of the human race. Throughout my quest that dissolved. I began thinking less about man’s shortcomings and more about the promise of Nature. I thought less about what was wrong with the world and more about what was right with it. It wasn’t eye-opening, it was soul awakening.

One of my favorite books is Sam Keen’s Hymns to an Unknown God. In it Sam talks about how as a minister and as a therapist he realized the people he was counseling were all looking for the same thing. They wanted something greater than themselves to surrender to and be part of. I found it four years ago when I came north and surrendered to the mountains. You see, we don’t conquer a mountain when we climb it. It’s the other way around. It conquers us. Once you’ve experienced a peak, it never leaves you. Surrender to the intensity of a summer of peakbagging and it becomes life altering.

I look forward to following Dave’s quest and perhaps Atticus and I will even get to join him on a hike or two this summer. We shall see. If you wish to follow along check out his website and get ready to root on the Fat Man of the Mountains.

*Through its classroom, outdoors and after-school work, Kestrel Educational Adventures connects hundreds of kids across the North Shore to the natural world around them, encourages thinking about nature as a part of normal life rather than an exotic destination, and nurtures the next generation of outdoors stewards.

A Doggone Good Idea

Auguries of Innocence on the Kancamagus Highway

You never know when you’ll have a wildlife sighting on the Kancamagus Highway. Often you will see cars pulled over to the side of the road and there’s a good chance they are moose-watching, or maybe they’ve seen a bear.

On Saturday, having climbed Chocorua, we were headed home late in the morning. We were following a line of bikers playing ‘follow the leader’. The lead biker swerved left, the others swerved left. He’d stand up on his bike, the others would stand. He’d weave back and forth as if following the twists and turns of a rope and the others would follow suit. I then saw each of them take aim at small lump in the road and swerve towards it – the game, I imagined - was to get as close to it as possible without hitting it. One after another these weekend warriors dive-bombed the little lump and just missed it.

I also missed it and when I passed I realized the ‘lump’ was a very large toad sitting about a quarter of the way across the road. A funny thing happens when you spend so many quiet miles alone in the woods, sweating, swearing and praying your way up mountains, the only company being a little dog and your own hoary breath – you start to see things differently. These moments are the best of my life. I’m never closer to my own true self than in those moments. Loving words as I do, familiar and often-read phrases or lines from great minds often visit me in these walking meditations.

I tell you that so you will understand why at that moment, fresh off a mountain, still sweating and a little bit sore, after passing that toad in the road my mind turned to those words that begin William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”. (Don’t you just love that title?)

“To see a world in a grain of sand,
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.”

Yes, I know a warty old toad is not exactly a wild flower, but nevertheless, a quarter of a mile down the road I made a sharp u-turn and returned to see how he was doing. He hadn’t budged. The close calls had either frozen him in place or else they weren’t about to deter him from resting where and when he wanted to, even if it meant he was about to be as flat as a mitten and left for the crows.

I pulled off the side of the road. When I got out of the car, Atticus wanted to follow so I let him sit on the side of the road.

I’ll be the first to tell you I have no idea what goes through the mind of a toad. I’m not so arrogant as to think very little does, and when I came eye to eye with this particular old fellow I could have sworn there was plenty going through his mind. He looked at me suspiciously – so much so that I did my best to look gentle and benevolent and not to give him the wrong idea. He did have his pride after all, and he had already made it a quarter of the way across the road. Who was I to think he wouldn’t make it the rest of the way just fine?

Long ago, I sometimes made a practice, after having been freshly cashed up on pay day, of stopping at an Army surplus store and buying as many wool blankets as I could afford. The next morning I’d get up early and make a pile of ham and cheese sandwiches. Then I’d head into Boston Common, or Washington Park when I lived in Albany, where I knew some of the homeless by name, and I’d deliver them lunch and a blanket in the colder weather. However, there were some folks who, just like that old toad, had plenty pride even if they weren’t in the best place in their lives. They figured they’d gotten by just fine so far without me around and took the threat of my charity as an affront. After seeing me pass out blankets and sandwiches to others they would sneer at me when I approached. I respected their pride. Instead of offering them help, I’d take a folded blanket and lay it on the ground near the closest trash can. I’d then place the wrapped sandwich on top of it and leave it there.

I was careful not to look back but when I’d return some 10 minutes later, they’d have the blanket and the sandwich, having ‘found’ it on their own.

That’s what it was like when I approached that toad in the road. He didn’t want my help. However, it was clear he needed it. And this was a little different than dealing with a homeless man in Boston Common. After all we really didn’t have that much time. I gave some thought to picking him up (he was so big he would have filled the palm of my hand) but that look in his eye said, “Back off, pal!” Meanwhile Atticus was cocking his head on the far side of the road, watching us intently.

I got behind Grandpa Toad and reached down to nudge his bottom but just before I touched him he hopped and flopped down in a new spot a few inches further across the road. I reached again, he hopped again. Each time I’d get close to touching him this old fellow would flop down heavily a few inches further along the pavement and look a bit bothered by my encroachment on his space.

We were about halfway across the road when a car came around the bend and was heading for us while another couple of cars were coming in the other direction. I made like the police officer in Make Way for Ducklings and stood up and put out both of my hands telling the cars to stop. Imagine if you will what must have been going through these folks' heads: in front of them a prideful fat toad was being urged across the Kancamagus Highway by a fellow who was doing his best to allow Grandpa to move at somewhat of his own pace, all the while a little floppy-eared black and white dog was sitting on the side of the road studying both man and the toad.

Once the cars stopped I resumed reaching gently behind the toad and he resumed moving just before I made contact with him. Eventually, with more cars now stopped watching this spectacle, we made it to the other side. But even when we made it off the pavement and were on the shoulder of the road none of those cars moved. They sat and watched as if they were watching a moose. One car pulled over and a fellow got out.

“That’s the biggest toad I’ve ever seen!”

Then a mini van pulled off the side of the road and a family of four got out and took a look at Grandpa Toad. All the while I urged the old guy further off the road and towards the deep grass. The shade of the trees was maybe 10 yards ahead and another 10 yards beyond that was the river.

None of the cars on the road had moved yet, they were all watching. More cars pulled over.

The grass was high and the going was slow until a couple of kids got the idea of helping him by ‘breaking trail’. They were gentle in approaching and standing in front of Grandpa and then stepping on the high grass to mat it down. Their parents then helped. The first fellow who pulled over joined in, too. And the next thing you know there were seven or eight people stepping on the grass trying to make a path for this toad to the shade of the trees while others were watching as if this was the most important thing in their lives.

I continued to urge the old fellow along from behind and before too long we reached the soft, shaded ground and this group of strangers who pulled off the road to help a fat toad gave out a little cheer and congratulated one another as if they had done something majestic. Although none of us exchanged names, I will long remember their faces: the genuine pleasure, the living in the moment of this simplest of little things.

It just goes to show you how powerful Nature is. Sure she can threaten us with hurricanes and tornadoes; bake us in her high heat; freeze us on mountaintops with wind chills far below zero; and drown us in her floods. She can also get us to take a moment to stop what we're doing and actually care if a toad makes it safely to where he’s going. It can even make friends out of strangers, if even only for a few minutes on the side of a road in the middle of the mountains.

(If you are interested, William Blakes entire "Auguries of Innocence" can be found here.)

Beating the Crowds and the Bugs to the Summit of Chocorua on a Saturday Morning

This morning Atticus and I were on the trail at 7:00 a.m. and on the summit of Chocorua by 9:00 a.m. There were only two other people up on top. However, on the way down, we passed a conga-line of hikers (probably 40 to 50)...and that was just one of the approaches. I imagine right around now (2:30 in the afternoon) that summit is packed tighter than a subway coming from Fenway just after a Sox game lets out.

Chocorua is a beautiful mountain, with stunning 360 degree views. I don't begrudge people for wanting to be up there, but give me a quiet summit any day.

This Morning's Conway Daily Sun Welcomes Us To Jackson

A warm welcome to Jackson newcomers, Tom Ryan and ‘Atticus’

By Salley-Anne Partoon

Having recently been signed by Brian DeFiore, the head of DeFiore and Company — the literary agents that handled “Marley and Me” —writer Tom Ryan has moved to Jackson to work on his new book entitled “Following Atticus”, which chronicles Tom’s adventures in the White Mountains for the past four years with his remarkable little dog, Atticus, a 25 pound Miniature Schnauzer.

In the fall of 2004 Atticus and Tom hiked 4,000-foot Mount Garfield, the following summer they hiked all 48 of the 4,000-footers in 11 weeks. They have also gone on to climb 193 winter 4,000-footers in four years, raising money for the Jimmy Fund and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

During this time, little Atticus has overcome blindness, thyroid cancer and being attacked by a large dog 6 days before he and Tom were to be honored at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library as winners of the MSPCA’s annual Human Hero Award. Despite having to undergo emergency surgery, Atticus surprised one and all by proudly marching into the JFK Library as if nothing had happened. Throughout the evening he made his way around the festivities and by night’s end he captured the hearts of everyone.

Tom can often be seen walking the Jackson Loop with Atticus in the mornings; his hiking column, Adventures with Tom and Atticus, is a popular read in the Northcountry News and can be viewed at www.tomandatticus.blogspot.com .

(The Conway Daily Sun's Jackson column can be found on their website.)

Dogs Never Lie About Love by Jeffrey Moussaieff Mason

This was just sent to me and I think it’s wonderful. The following is from Jeffrey Moussaieff Mason’s book Dogs Never Lie About Love:

"I am not a religious man, and I pause before using the word soul. But my experiences with the dogs in my life, and now with Sash, Sima, and Rani, convince me that there is some profound essence, something about being a dog, which corresponds to our notion of an inner soul, the core of our being that makes us most human. In human animals, this core, I am convinced, has to do with our ability to reach out and help a member of another species, to devote our energy to the welfare of that species, even when we do not stand to benefit from the other - in short, to love the other for its own sake. If any species on earth shares this miraculous ability with us ...it is the dog, for the dog truly loves us sometimes beyond expectation, beyond measure, beyond what we deserve, more, indeed than we love ourselves."

My Favorite 4,000-Foot Summits

I’m often asked, “Which is your favorite 4,000-footer?”

There’s no easy answer for me. I find charm in every single one of them, even those others loath. Look at Mount Waumbek, for instance. It is by far one of the least favorites of those who chase after peaks. The reasons being two-fold: lack of views (you get a view a mile before the summit, while on top of Mount Starr King, and another limited one 30 yards beyond the summit, through the trees towards the Presidential Range), and the fact that there’s no quick way to get there. However, I’m always enchanted by the woods, especially the wind ravaged col between Starr King and Waumbek.

Others hate Owl’s Head – because of the lack of a view and the 18 mile round trip. But there’s something to be said for getting lost in your head in the woods for so many hours and wading through those rivers on a summer day.

Just for the heck of it I’ve decided to rank my top 10 summits out of the 48, starting with number 10 and finishing with my favorite.

10. Eisenhower: Last summer, while sitting on the wide, grassy expanse on the summit with Ken and Ann Stampfer and Atticus under an azure sky with an armada of the most impressive white billowy clouds I’ve ever seen floating over Franklin, Monroe, Washington, Clay and Jefferson, I thought, “This is as good as it gets.” (Pictured above.)
9. Liberty: Natural stone recliners over the cliffs make this a comfortable place to take a nap and wake up to the view across Franconia Notch towards Cannon, which seems bigger than it actually is from this angle. In the photo to the right Atticus watches an undercast just after sunrise on Liberty.
8. Lincoln: Some would say neighbor, Lafayette, but I prefer Lincoln because you get to see Lafayette rising up in the North and you get to see everything else you get to see from Lafayette. Besides, looking south along Franconia Ridge the trail towards Liberty often reminds me of the Great Wall of China. One day Atti and I started out at 1:00 a.m. from Lincoln Woods in our attempt to do a 33.5 mile Pemi Loop. Lyme Disease stopped me on Lafayette but we started early enough that we had Flume, Liberty and Lincoln to ourselves at daybreak.
7. Monroe: It’s not just the summit perch and the close-up view of Washington; it’s also the walk south along the ridge towards Little Monroe and Franklin. The wind plays with the mountain grass on either side of the trail making it look like gentle waves. Meanwhile in the distance, there is a never-ending view of mountains. There’s something precious about a view that gives the illusion that the mountains never end.
6. Isolation: Saint-Exupery wrote: “It is such a secret place, the land of tears.” One winter day, Atticus and I stood alone on the summit of Isolation in 30 below zero wind chills. The unique view of the Southern Presidentials capped in snow and clouds flying over them like ghosts so moved me, the tears rolling down my cheeks froze – and yet I could not move. I didn’t want to leave. In some ways I never have.
5. Madison: Others would say Jefferson or Adams. I can't argue with them. I choose Madison simply for the feel of it. Sitting atop the last of the Presidential peaks makes me feel like I’m sitting on the end of the world. And just like the view from Adams or Jefferson, the view of Washington is better than being on Washington itself, which is nearly always crowded in the summer. (Picking up on a trend here? That’s right, any mountain we can have to ourselves is a pretty special place.)
4. Bondcliff: The first time I stood atop Bondcliff and held Atticus in my arms, a passing hiker took my photo. The next day I shared it with my dad. Looking at the cliff and its incredible drop into Hellgate Ravine below he said, “Oh, it makes my feet ache!” That’s when I learned who I inherited my fear of heights from. Nevertheless, to stand there, especially when emerging from the scrub of Bondcliff Trail to the south, to see those first glimpses of incredible mountains in every direction, is breath taking!
3. South Twin: Sometimes I’m surprised by the view from South Twin. From its lofty rocks I see many mountains from a different perspective and it makes me think of them in different ways. That’s quite a gift: to look at familiar things and see them in new ways.
2. Garfield: My first 4,000-foot summit is still one of my favorites. I feel like I’m sitting on Nature’s front porch the way the ledges fall away precipitously at my feet and Owl’s Head and the Pemi Wilderness spreads out before me like some immense rolling sea of green. It sits at the head of a bowl of mountains shaped by Franconia Ridge to the west and the Twins, Galehead and the Bonds to the east. Off in the distance there is the illusion of faded blue mountain after faded blue mountain extending towards forever. It just feels like home. (An added plus is that with all the ledges there are plenty of places to get away from the crowd on a busy day.)
1. West Bond: Steve Smith refers to this as a ‘scatter your ashes’ kind of summit. He’s right. Other than a glimpse of the ski slopes of Loon Mountain far off in the distance, it’s difficult to see any other signs of civilization. Of course it helps that it is locked in the middle of the Pemigewasset Wilderness and most of the times I’ve been there I’ve had it to myself. There was one mild winter day when Atticus and I did a Bonds Traverse over Bondcliff, Bond, West Bond, Zealand and Hale and didn’t see another soul all day. I felt like we had the world to ourselves…and I loved it.