South Moat Today

This morning we climbed South Moat and as usual Atticus took full advantage of the ledges for great sightseeing. There's something about this peak that makes him want to linger. The last two times we have climbed it Atti didn't want to go down. As a matter of fact, he pulled sit down strikes on both occasions. But can you blame him with views like this?

New Mailing Address

Please note that we have a new mailing address:

Tom & Atticus

PO Box 651

Jackson, NH 03846

Mount Washington at Sunset Last Night

It was not that the jagged precipices were lofty,
that the encircling woods were the dimmest shade,
or that the waters were profoundly deep;
but that over all, rocks ,wood, and water,
brooded the spirit of repose, and the silent energy
of nature stirred the soul to its inmost depths.

~ Thomas Cole

Cat Watching

Over the next month we are house/dog/cat sitting in the shadow of Mount Washington. I'm not the only one busy with my duties. Atticus has taken it upon himself to mountain watch (upper photo) and when he's not doing that he's honing his skills as a cat watcher (bottom photo). Here he watches Menou, one of the two cats we are caring for. The other is Stella, who was off licking her food dish for the fourth time since breakfast. Dawa, the dog we are sitting, was busy snoozing in the grass under the warm sun dreaming of our next romp in the woods.

Rudyard Kipling: The Power Of The Dog

I stumbled upon this last night and thought I'd share it. Those of you who can relate to the 'power of the dog' will understand. Of course there are many things those of us who love animals, and specifically dogs can relate to. Not too long ago in an email to me, author Sam Keen (Fire in the Belly; Hymns to An Unknown God) wrote: "I once had a Border Collie who loved to walk the hills. She got cancer and was incontinent and all but immoble. One day she wentout on a two hour walk with all the spryness of her youth. We returned to the house and she lay down and died. Atticus would understand."

Ah yes, the power of a dog. How they touch our hearts.

The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Bryan Flagg of the NorthCountry News Weighs In

Bryan Flagg, my editor and publisher at the Northcountry News was kind enough to send over the following note just after I submitted our latest column:

I don't think you know what kind of an affect you truly have on people that read your columns. I hear about it all the time. I am often asked how Tom and Atticus are, what they are up to and how things are going. You and Atticus have become household names in these parts and for good reason. You have allowed the readers into your world and have given them the opportunity to follow you and Atti up mountains that they may have never heard of in their lives. I have advertisers that tell me if they can't go on page three, then they want to be on the page with Tom and Atti. You have certainly made an impression on many folks. And at the cost of making myself sound like the over sensitive emotional fool I am - I am thankful and proud to be able to call you my friend. Thank you -Bryan

The Fat Man of the Mountains

(Dave & Lucas Olson from a photo lifted from their site http://www.fatmanofthemountains.wordpress.com/.)

You’ve heard of the Old Man of the Mountains (boy is he ever missed), well here is a link to Dave Olson’s blog “Fat Man of the Mountains”. Atticus and I met Dave and his son Lucas on the Champney Falls Trail climbing Chocorua last summer. It was a beautiful day enhanced by the chance meeting on the trail. Then, later while Atti and I were on the summit, we visited for a bit with them again and I snapped some photos for them – one of which is used in the banner to the blog.

On his blog Dave writes: I’m a newspaperman and writer living on the Massachusetts coast. I love the ocean, but I’d rather be in the woods. This summer, I’ll be climbing all 48 of New Hampshire’s 4,000-foot mountains to raise money for Kestrel Educational Adventures.

He also writes:

The vast majority of hikers, however, take years, even decades to complete the list, so it would be pretty significant accomplishment if I could reach all the summits in 90 days. A fat but fairly fit guy like myself can pull off a difficult hike every once in a while. A summer-long series of difficult hikes — including a handful of traverses taking several days — is another thing altogether. It’s been a long time since I challenged myself physically, and the longer I wait the less of a chance it’s going to happen. I’ve spent the winter in the gym, getting as ready as I can. I’ll do some training hikes this spring. This summer, all I’ll need is a well-thought-out plan for getting to and from trailheads. The hiking’s the easy part; it’s the driving that takes its toll.

The hikes will also give me a chance to repay, in a small way, Kestrel Educational Adventures, which started the conservation club that fueled my son’s already strong love for the outdoors and started us on a journey that’s changed both our lives for the better. I’ll have more details in my next post, but I plan to use my hikes as a fundraiser for Kestrel, with donors offering a specific amount for each mountain I climb. A dollar a mountain would mean $48 if I finish them all. Get enough donors and you’re doing some good for a great organization that does a lot of work with a little money. Again, more on that later.

Having the shortest glimpse of Dave and Lucas together last summer, I have an inkling that it will be fun to follow the two of them throughout their summer long adventure. To donate to their cause simply visit their website. Or simply visit it because it will be fun to follow along from wherever you are.

Father and son are about to have one heck of an adventure together.

Tom & Atticus Sign With Literary Agent Brian DeFiore

(Atticus and Dawa at Diana’s Baths. Photo was taken last fall.)

When in North Conway, we often take a morning and afternoon walk out to Diana’s Bath, a tiered waterfall just over half a mile walk from the road. It’s a beautiful place and on spring mornings such as this one during snowmelt it is also a very powerful place.

This morning Atticus and I were joined by Dawa, Marie Bouchard’s dog. We often house/dog/cat sit for Marie and when we do Atticus and Dawa spend their time in the house acting indifferently towards each other. There are no problems, just an understanding between the two to leave each other be. When we head to the car Dawa happily hops into the backseat and Atticus takes his usual place in the front seat. Then, when on the trail (any trail really), you’d think both dogs were best friends. They move together some of the time, apart on other occasions, but the three of us mostly move as a team.

This morning was no different. Our trio made its way through the woods. The dogs moved easily along while I crunched over the ice and crispy snow of the trail. Underfoot, my Microspikes gave me surety of foot as we moved along the icy ledges next to the waterfall. It gushed by us and the three of us took a seat on a boulder and watched winter literally washing away. Just a few weeks ago we were able to walk across the river but not here, not now. The deep snow and ice eroded from the bottom up and now the river is gaping wide open and the current gushes by with an impressive force.

From the falls we joined back up to the trail that leads to North Moat. Just two weeks ago Atticus and I followed it to the top of the mountain. It was a terrific day to climb and to sit on high above tree line. But then food poisoning came on and I was laid low for nearly two weeks now. It finally feels good to be out and about again and it felt great to be traipsing along the trail this morning. So long as I walked in the middle of it there was no problem, but step off to the side just a foot or so and I’d sink in knee deep in the rotting snow.

We moved through the woods and along the river that feeds the falls and were rewarded by a time both simple and sacred: a man, two dogs and the open woods without anyone else around. We walked on until we came to the first stream crossing. Had we been headed to North Moat we would have found a way to cross the stream, which was nearly bridged by a small fallen tree and some snow and ice, but on this day when we were just out of a walk in the woods there was no reason to push it. Neither Atticus nor Dawa had a problem with turning back. They took one look at the deep, fast-running cold mountain water and in unison gave me a look that said, “Yep, let’s head back.”

On the way back we stopped at the upper level of the falls again and looked out to where the river disappears below into the trees. Miles ahead of us, through an opening in the trees, North Kearsage stood peering down at us. We have yet to climb it but it is on my list to do this spring or summer.

How wonderful it was to stop and pause here and think about my writing again. Interestingly enough, I was actually tormented by the thought of writing throughout much of the fall and the winter. Last summer I signed on with a great agent but for whatever the reason it just didn’t work. I felt like I couldn’t be me and each time I wrote something I felt as though I were writing for her. It wasn’t a good situation. I stagnated, struggled and began to resent the book.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it any more. I ended the business relationship and now I’m happy to say I’m thrilled to be writing again. It feels like a gift again, instead of a chore. With the help of Brian DeFiore (about Brian) of DeFiore & Company (about DeFiore & Co.), my new agent, I’m changing the story into something much more than it was and I’m happy to say it still feels as though it is still my story. It is growing, but I’m growing with it.

Yesterday I spoke with Brian and it was liberating. I feel like an athlete who has in many ways been held back, but now I feel like he’s stretching me out and urging me to be what I can be. He’s got a gift for being comfortable and making me comfortable.

So this morning that’s what I was thinking about as Atticus and Dawa marched along ahead of me, two mismatched dogs – one small with only a stub of a tail and the other big with a feathery plume of a great tail. All three of us were in our elements. They were playing along at the base of a mountain while I was playing along with words and possibilities in my head.

I’m now dedicated to writing again. You’ll notice it in the coming weeks as I blog more than I have been since last summer. Writing just didn’t feel comfortable anymore. Suddenly, it feels like it always used to. In short, it feels like I’m now writing letters to a friend again and that was always my best writing – easy, flowing, simple.

William Wordsworth's Mountain

(Photo is of Mount Washington this afternoon.)

Last summer I discovered the poetry of Mary Oliver. Her contemporary words hit home as much as any written in the days of old by Muir, Emerson or Thoreau. Each time I find one of her poems, I read it again and again until it lingers with me. Many of them refuse to let go.

Then, just this past week, I encountered some of her prose. It is from her book of essays called Long Life: Essays and Other Writings. The essay which will not let me go is “Wordsworth’s Mountain”. It hits me for I too have had experiences like Wordsworth in facing a mountain in darkness. Mine came on a January night after traversing across Middle Carter, South Carter, Mount Hight and Carter Dome before dropping down into Carter Notch and then climbing back up again to travel along the numerous peaks of Wildcat Mountain. When Atticus and I reached the ski slopes – our exit from the mountain top – and started our descent, even in the still of the night I could look across Pinkham Notch below and up at the looming shadow of Mount Washington. It was as if that great peak was breathing, watching us descend, stalking us in such a way that at any moment it could reach out and lunge with all its might at us.

It was an experience both frightening and thrilling. I can remember being foolish enough to turn off my headlamp as so not as to be seen so easily by Agiocochook and feeling my heart beat as if I was being hunted.

It is an experience I will never forget. It appears William Wordsworth, the great English poet who embraced Romanticisms call to nature and individuality instead of to the church, had a quite similar experience as a child. Mary Oliver writes of it here:

“And now I am thinking of the poet Wordsworth, and the strange adventure that one night overtook him. When he was still a young boy, in love with summer and night, he went down to a lake, "borrowed" a rowboat, and rowed out upon the water. At first he felt himself embraced by pleasures: the moonlight, the sound of the oars in the calm water. Then, suddenly, a mountain peak nearby, with which he was familiar, or felt he was familiar, revealed, to his mind and eye, a horrifying flexibility. All crag and weight, it perceived him; it leaned down over the water; it seemed to pursue him. Of course he was terrified, and rowed hard, fleeing back across the water. But the experience led him, led his mind, from simple devotion of that beauty which is a harmony, a kindly ministry of thought, to nature's deeper and inexplicable greatness. The gleam and the tranquility of the natural world he loved always, and now he honored also the world's brawn and mystery, its machinations that lie beyond our understanding — that are not even nameable. What Wordsworth praised thereafter was more than the arrangement of concretions and vapors into appreciable and balanced landscapes; it was, also, the whirlwind. The beauty and strangeness of the world may fill the eyes with its cordial refreshment. Equally it may offer the heart a dish of terror. On one side is radiance; on another is the abyss.”

Wordsworth has been on my mind as of late because he plays a prominent part in the most recent John Muir biography, A Passion for Nature. So when I came upon the Mary Oliver piece it excited me even more. Since then I have found Wordsworth’s own poem, or a segment of it actually, describing that night from his childhood and that looming mountain. It is from his “Prelude” (1850) and it follows below.

One summer evening (led by [Nature]) I found

A little boat tied to a willow tree

Within a rocky cave, its usual home.

Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in

Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth

And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice

Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;

Leaving behind her still, on either side,

Small circles glittering idly in the moon,

Until they melted all into one track

Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows,

Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point

With an unswerving line, I fixed my view

Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,

The horizon's utmost boundary; for above

Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.

She was an elfin pinnace; lustily

I dipped my oars into the silent lake,

And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat

Went heaving through the water like a swan

When, from behind that craggy steep till then

The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,

As if with voluntary power instinct

Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,

And growing still in stature the grim shape

Towered up between me and the stars, and still,

For so it seemed, with purpose of its own

And measured motion like a living thing,

Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,

And through the silent water stole my way

Back to the covert of the willow tree;

There in her mooring-place I left my bark,--

And through the meadows homweard wen, in grave

And serious mood; but after I had seen

That spectacle, for many days, my brain

Worked with a dim and undetermined sense

Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts

There hung a darkness, call it solitude

Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes

Remained, no pleasant images of trees,

Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;

But huge and mighty forms, that do not live

Like living men, moved slowly through the mind

By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

This is one of the reasons I love the mountains as I do. They inspire thoughts in us so powerful and provocative that we feel a close kinship with the likes of Emerson or Thoreau or Muir or even some of the great White Mountain painters like Benjamin Champney or Thomas Cole.

90 Minutes In Heaven

Before Monday I’ve never stood atop North Moat before but I can now verify what I’ve long been told: of the three Moats the view from the northern triplet is the best.

Stunning, simply stunning! And what a day we had for views, too: just the slightest whisper of a breeze; a warm sun; day-dreaming blue skies without a cloud in sight.

Standing there I thought of something Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: “Our faith comes in moments…yet there is a depth in those brief moments which constrains us to ascribe more reality to them than to all other experiences.” (I often find myself revisiting Emerson atop a scenic summit.) And that, I thought to myself as Atticus meandered around the edges of the small summit looking out this way and that, is what makes life worth living. It’s all in the magic we find here and there – not unlike stars poking through the vast darkness of the blackest night.

That’s the great thing about these mountains of New Hampshire; they deliver us from the mundane, time and again. You can park your car, and in the case of North Moat, walk into the woods, first keeping company with a ‘little poem’ of a brook (to borrow a term from John Muir), move through a sunlit forest carpeted in untouched snow, climb ledge after open ledge of steep pitches and then reach a place where you can turn your back on the troubles of this life and find a reason to smile, no matter what ails you. And literally, by turning your back to the east and the outlet stores of North Conway below, you face west directly into the wilderness.

At 3,196 feet, the summit of North Moat is more than 3,000 feet shorter than the summit of Mount Washington. But bigger is not always better. I can tell you that simply by looking at my diminutive hiking partner. When planted firmly atop North Moat as we were on this stunning day, try convincing yourself it is anything less than Washington. There’s a good chance you will lose the argument. In many ways, the view is far greater, simply for the proximity to the Sandwich Range to the south and the Pemi Wilderness to the West. It’s as though you can reach out and touch Chocorua or dip yourself into the waters of the Pemi where mountains break from the earth like wild waves.

The climb from Diana’s Baths to the summit is at first easy for two and a half miles, then difficult for the last two, but it is well worth the effort. While summit sitting I had to remind myself it is still winter. But it was so pleasant we stayed for 90 glorious minutes and all I wore over my shirt was my summer windbreaker. No gloves. No hat.

Watching Atticus summit sit – Buddha like – on the various outcroppings, I recalled something I was asked during the Animal Planet interview. I had forwarded the producer my book proposal so he would know about our complete story. In it I wrote about how Atticus sits and takes in the views. He reminded me of the term ‘Buddha-like’ and asked me if I thought of Atti as my spiritual guru of sorts.

At first I laughed. For whenever I think of gurus I think of how in “Eat, Pray, Love” Elizabeth Gilbert went traipsing around the world for a year in search of a guru when all she really needed to do was sit on a mountaintop with a little dog. But the answer I gave was simply: No, but by watching Atticus and following him over these mountains for the last few years I remembered what I long ago forgot. It is all about the primitive. Somehow, we lose it. We grow up and leave much of the magic behind. But by watching him, I was reminded time and again of the best part of myself – the child within. I’d lost him. It took four decades and a little dog but what was once lost is now found.

And so it was that on Monday morning while much of the world was at work, Atticus led me back to the primitive once again and to one of those beautiful Emersonian moments.

Summit Snoozing

What a perfect summit for a little nap. No wind. No cold. No hurry. We stayed on the summit of North Moat today for 90 minutes.

A Picture Perfect Day On North Moat

Today we hiked North Moat. What a glorious day atop this wondrous peak! I'll have more on this later. But for now, here are some shots to tide you over.

An Animal Planet Update From Powderhouse Productions

This from a comment left to one of the posts just down the page. It's from one of the good folks at Powderhouse Productions...

Tom, we're not sure when the show will air. it may not be until september or october of this year! but the piece is being edited and looks fantastic so far. again thanks for your participation. give atticus a pat - and keep in touch. we will do the same.

Mount Washington In National Geographic

For those of you who didn't see last month's National Geographic, they focused on Mount Washington and her horrendous weather. To read the article click here. To see the photos that appeared in N.G. click here. Perhaps my favorite line from the article is this: "It is a regular star in television forecasts, a coffee shop conversation starter, a murderer." The photo above is from last winter when Atticus and I stood atop Washington on a spring-like day.

Filming Follow-Up

In the next couple of days I'll be sharing our experiences throughout the Animal Planet shoot. For now, suffice it to say the crew from Powderhouse Productions made this a very pleasant experience as did the people at Angell. On Thursday we filmed a lengthy interview at the Nereledge Inn in North Conway; they took footage of us hiking through the snow to the top of Elephant's Head at the bottom of the Webster-Jackson Trail; took footage of us walking through downtown North Conway; then finished up with some more filming in the Met coffeehouse. Yesterday, Atticus and I drove to Jamaica Plain where some more footage was shot at Angell Animal Medical Center. Besides the folks at Powderhouse, I am thankful to the staff at Angell for making themselves available for filming yesterday. Particular thanks goes out to Atticus' doctor, Maureen Carroll, for taking the time to drive to North Conway for her own somewhat lengthy interview and then making herself available while she was working yesterday. I have no idea what the footage looks like but I'm told it looks great. We shall see. I was told the show should debut in April. And finally, not enough can be said to Diane Mello and the rest of the staff at the Met for their continued warmth and welcoming ways! An update will be following soon.

Photos From Yesterday's Animal Planet Visit With Atticus

Some photos from yesterday's Animal Planet shoot with the crew from Powderhouse Productions. Top photo is of the producer, Joe Sousa, warming Atticus on top of Elephant Head. Then the cameraman and sound engineer filming Atticus on the trail while they walk backwards. Final shot is of the crew together surrounded by winter at the foot of Mt. Jackson.

Four Photos From Yesterday

Today is not a hiking day and this is not a hiking winter. Yes, we have done five hikes since winter started, but this is our first winter to hike leisurely after three winters of cramming peaks in to the point of getting burned out on it. Instead I'm concentrating on my book proposal this winter. Nevertheless we hiked Passaconaway yesterday and tomorrow we're going right back out there (if the weather holds) to hike the Willey Range (Mt. Willey; Mt. Field; and Mt. Tom). Then on Thursday we'll be meeting with the people from Powderhouse Productions while they film Atticus for Dogs 101 on Animal Planet.

Here are some shots from yesterday's hike. All shots were taken from the one viewpoint just before the summit (which has no view).

1. Atticus in front of a view into the Pemigewasset Wilderness.
2. A panoramic shot into the Pemi with white-capped Franconia Ridge to the left; the Hancocks right in the foreground in the middle; and Carrigain off to the right.
3. A better shot of the Hancocks and Carrigain.
4. North Tripyramid with the Osceolas in the background.

A Pleasant Surprise

Wonderful of Beth Maddaus to honor us with a post on her blog today with news of Atticus being on Animal Planet.

Atticus M. Finch To Be On Animal Planet

I've always said that Atticus is the brains, brawn and beauty of this operation and just to show you I'm not the only one who thinks so, Powderhouse Productions, the people who run Animal Planet's Dogs 101, are coming to the White Mountains to film my diminutive friend. It will run as part of their segment on miniature schnauzers. At this time the plan is for them to climb a mountain with us...or at least go on a hike to get some footage of Atti in his element.

Gray Jays on Jackson

When we hiked Mount Jackson the other day we had the pleasure of having the summit to ourselves...well, actually, we shared it with a trio of Gray Jays. The wonderfully bold birds make it a habit to visit for food on several of the peaks in the Crawford Notch area.