The Reluctant House Hunter

The Hubba Hubba

 We've been stalking 'the perfect home' for the last six months. An amazing fact in and of itself because since selling out of my last one, I've been a very happy, care-free renter. The prospect of being tied to or owned by a solid architectual structure on an improved piece of land doesn't appeal to me half so much as the ability to throw what little I have on a bike, kayak or car and go, sans worry, into those wonderful un-improved places that still exist, leaving as little trace of my passing as possible.

But in the interest of being able to maintain the carefree, low-impact life long into the future, it appears that the best plan at present is to a get a house.

not the actual house

So we've been hunting. Hunting with very specific criteria. Stalking not just any house, but intending to bag the Big One. Domesticus Dralvius. 2 or 3 bedrooms, 1 or 2 baths, 1000-1500 sq ft, in a quiet location within walking distance to the commuter rail and a short drive to Gloucester, with a 1 or 2 car garage/toy box, that doesn't need a lot of work.

Elusive prey, to be sure. But given this market, this time of year, and a recent expansion of the hunt zone, this weekend we cornered two.  Haven't bagged either yet but it feels unexpectedly comforting to be close.

New England Flatlander Microclimates

Tuesday afternoon I went from 85 to 55 in 1.6 hours and a drysuit. Boston was hazy, hot and humid when I boarded the Rockport Express to Manchester (By-the-Sea). 50 minutes later I stepped onto the platform and into a sunny, summer afternoon. Not too hot, not too cool, with just the slightest of on shore breeze. From there to Conomo Point took less than 15 minutes. A simple flip of the kayak later and I was enjoying the refreshing 55 degree water of the Atlantic Ocean.

Tuesday morning I had been speaking enviously of the microclimates of the Southwest. Of how wonderful and unique it was to escape the desert heat by hiking down into a slot canyon or climbing up a butte or mountain a few thousand feet to experience a cooler weather zone.

Heck, I've even bemoaned being away from the zones of the White Mountains.

Today I realized that I live in the middle of the New England Flatlander Microclimate with weather variations all around, and down.

ERBA Guide Shoals

photo by Carrie

The US Hydrographic Office in association with NOAA, announce the amendment of chart 13279, to include ERBA Guide Shoals. Located .4 miles East of the South end of Crane Beach, the Shoals present a significant hazard to kayakers and operators of other inshore small craft.

Breaking waves form over these shoals without a moments notice, taking paddlers unawares and indiscriminately knocking them, and their rescuers over. Once over, kayakers are advised to "get in your  boat". While others are to continue paddling, even as such activity will not move them forward, and to keep an eye for the formation of breakers where they sit.

ERBA Guide Shoals

The ERBA Guide Shoals are named after the group of intrepid ERBA Kayak Guides-in-Training who first encountered these dangerous hazards to navigation on a beautiful May Sunday, and spent considerable time perfecting their rescue and maneuvering skills in the ever-changing
waters over the shoals.

I have been to the cold North Atlantic and fear no man.

Last night's kayak guide training took us around Kettle Island, off Magnolia. i.e., the Atlantic Ocean. We're an eager, enthusiastic pod of kayakers, and the Guide-guides, an expert pair, skilled in paddling, guiding paddlers, and sharing their love of the experience.

But the Atlantic Ocean is big, and a kayak, even in a sheltered bay, feels small. Out there bobbing like a cork, or one of those bottles shipwrecked sailor stick a message in, the kayak felt really, really small. With a good five foot swell, rolling in across open water from Portugal we'd drop into the trough and loose sight of our fellow kayakers, only to find them paddling along right beside us as we climbed to the crest.

Reaching the shelter of the lee side of Kettle Island we regrouped and shared out thoughts. “What I kept thinking of” said one of my fellow guides-in-training, “was Paul Revere.”

“Pardon?” I replied. Thinking perhaps she was relating riding the swell to spreading the alarm, and also that she was a bigger history geek than previously suspected.

“No” she said, “before The Ride. The British were marching to Marblehead to seize their ammunition. Paul Revere (who apparently really liked to ride that horse) rode out to warn them, and the British were met by a militia of Marblehead Cod Fishermen refusing to let them pass and informing them that “We have been to the cold North Atlantic and we fear no man”

Yeah, hand-lining in a dory off the Grand Banks does put the fears of a suburban kayaker in perspective.

Milwaukee

I've never met a cheese I didn't like, and apparently, liverwurst, when made well can be very tasty. But bratwurst? Bratwurst as some explaining to do. Milwaukee is the reputed German homeland in the US, so their bratwurst is the best, I just don't get how it could have so much stuff in it and taste so bland.

But lets go back to the Cheese. I walked into the Wisconsin Cheese Mart yesterday and thought I was in heaven. They have lots and lots of great cheese, all local, all so very good it will be hard to decide what to bring home. They also have a full bar - with 20 local brews on tap (@$3.50 a glass). But wait, it gets better. They also have a lunch and dinner menu, and on that menu is grilled cheese.

So it came to pass that after a long day of flying and walking I found myself drinking a lovely beer and eating the best grilled cheese ever.

At night I attended the opening reception for the conference - where they also served local cheese, and local beer (in fact they served only local beer, and local wine and local soda - which is very cool). They also served all the local meat products, and that where I had the bratwurst, some other unidentifiable meat product, and the tasty liverwurst.

Kayaks and Bikes

Kayaks are the bicycles of the water-going world. A manufactured, technological wonder that leverages man's natural mobility so was to allow him to go further and faster, under his own power, while still blending with the environment.

Unlike bicycles however kayaks have along history. The iqyak and baidarkas having been in use for thousands of years, the bicycle was invented in 1817.  But like the bicycle, where originally there were only a few 'models', there are now several specialized styles, each with its own specialized purpose.

There are short little kayaks for whitewater , fat round kayaks for splashing about in ponds, two seater kayaks for taking the kids out, open kayaks with special fittings just for fishing.  The kayaks we'll be working with in the class are Ocean-going / Sea Touring kayaks. Long and narrow but still stable, plastic, and relatively easy to manoeuvre in  a heavy chop.

We spent the second day of class working with the different types of kayaks, learning how to fit people for them and some general handling techniques. I kept thinking of Eliza, back in the barn in Connecticut, patiently waiting even as I cozied in an out of tsnumias and optmas and a few other models.  It is amazing how well, and how poorly a kayak can fit. For in this, they are again like bicycles. Seemingly easy to fit anyone, each one has a number of small adjustments that sync your body and the 'machine' to easy the transition of power, long-haul comfort.

...and there is nothing like the feeling, when you hit your stride on a long haul, be it by bike or by kayak.

Kayaking Guide Training - Back in the Gear

Last Thursday I started a 6 week kayak guide training course. As rain poured outside the barn / kayak center the instructor, describing the pros and cons of necessary gear, wove a magic tale of neophrene, gore-tex and carbon fiber (and pro-deals!).  The gleam in his eye as he talked of his spray skirt and werner carbon fiber paddles was easy to see, and I felt the old, all too familiar gear lust rise in my soul.

But I digress, the kayak guide training class lasts 6 weeks and will cover, not only kayak skills, but also give us the run down on all the local spots and conditions preparing us for taking tours out over the summer. We'll mostly be kayaking in the Essex River (Massachusetts) but they have some trips planned around Gloucester and Manchester too. I'm not too sure I'll be doing that much guiding but the chance to go paddling with knowledgeable locals and add some skills was one I didn't want to pass up.

There are 9 of us in the class, covering a range of backgrounds and ages, but everyone appears to be an avid kayaker, eager to get out on that 40 degree water. Which brings us back to the Gear.

(After years of waffling I ordered the Kokatat Whirlpool Bib and Rogue Dry Top)

Breaking trail

Funny what with all the winter hiking we did this year the first time we had to break trail was on April 1, on one of herdiest of herd paths in the White Mountains. We had taken Friday off from work and weren't about to change our plans to hike Carter Dome and the Wildcats over the long weekend. No mere freak of an April storm could stop us.

Of course 10 to 12 inches of snow did slow us down. And apparently a lot of other folks rethought their plans. The only people we met on the 19 Mile Brook Trail were the hut caretakers – coming down. So the going was a little slow, extremely beautiful, but slow.

We made the hut however in good time, had lunch, selected our bunks (thinking we'd have company) and then started up to Carter Dome. Walking up a 60 degree, ice slope, with 12 inches of snow covering, is really challenging. Even with the snowshoe elevators fully extended, small steps, and taking care that the prongs really dug into the ice we'd advance only a few steps before falling back one, and setting off tiny avalanches.

Meanwhile, as we passed Pulpit Rock – the snow was getting heavier, and as is usual, the higher we got, the windier it got. What with the trail blazes being at snow level, the already alpine-stunted trees barely tipping out over the snow, and the snow whirling around us, I lost the trail. I think we were really close to the summit, but considering we couldn't see the trail, or 1 foot in front of us, we can't be sure.

Playing it safe, we turned around, avalanched down the trail, returned to the bunkhouse, stripped out of our cold, now wet clothing and climbed into our sleeping bags to await the appearance of the caretaker, and the promised 4:00 fire.

Luckily, the temperature was only 28 degrees. The Huts aren't heated, but they are tight which was good as the wind was really starting to pick up now, even in the relatively protected notch.

When Good Books Get Bad Names

There are two books that have changed my life but which I have to hide because their titles are awful. Embarrassing, counter-Kelly, verging on sexist. So bad that while I've been meaning to write this blog for years, ultimately I just haven't been able to spell them out. Even as I type this, I wonder if I'll ever push the "Publish Post" button. Even as I continue to read, and reread these books - hidden inside the covers of "The Economist."

Title One - This pivotal relationship book should have been titled, "Don't knock yourself out being nice, it's counter-productive and will only end badly for the both of you." but instead the author titled it Why Men Love Bitches: From Doormat to Dreamgirl - A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship

Title Two - While I knew my relationship with food bordered on obsessive, Women Food and God: An Unexpected Path to Almost Everything explains why. Very simply and without really talking about God at all, Geneen Roth lays clear a very Buddhist path to understanding compulsive behavior and how learning to be present in those compulsions is the way to awareness.

So - if you need a self-help book about women, men and/or food - I recommend them. 

Mattress Shopping

"And" she said, "we offer free, no-interest financing for up to two years!"

"Wow," I thought that would be a deal if I were buying a bike, a kayak, a house or a car, but no, we were looking at mattresses. You know, the kind that go on beds, the kind you sleep on. And yes 3 months of every year are spent sleeping. (At least that's what the posters on the walls said) but I'd been sleeping just fine for month/years on $300 IKEA special and was now in the midst of major culture/sticker shock.  Do people really pay $3999.00 for a mattress?

Apparently they do. And reading mattress reviews online, they also apparently often come to regret it. And hey, how well can you sleep after realizing you've been taken to the cleaners?


And so it was, as it often is, that we turned to Amazon.com. That meca in the cloud for folks who don't like shopping, who been burned a few times by ebay and aren't in craigslist kinda mood. There we found the Queen 12" Thick Therapeutic Memory Foam Mattress with 5" 5LB Viscoelastic Memory Foam, which had lots of great reviews. We also found a SLEEP TITE by Malouf Mattress Protector - 100% Waterproof-Eliminates Dust Mites -15 Year Warranty for $15.00 as opposed to the mattress store must-have cover for $150.00.

Does amazon also sell cars?

Pagan Paul, the Promise-Keepers and Me

Recent events in North Carolina have had me thinking back to an earlier, pre-blog hike, one in which prejudice was met with a shocking blow, and one which definitely deserves a place in internet history. 

Paul and I were section hiking the AT North-bound through Connecticut in 2001. On our third day, just as the funk was starting to settle into our clothes, (I had yet to learn the wonders of Tech-wick), and we were looking a bit wild, we came to a junction with a feeder trail where a man stood, clearly looking puzzled. He was in his mid 50's, buzz cut hair and dressed in crisp khaki shorts and a denim short sleeve shirt. Paul and I,  said "hi' and the man replied - was it my imagination or did he just reply to Paul? He then distinctly asked Paul, the guy with long black hair tied back with a bright red bandana, a sweaty black shirt with a hemp-leaf design,  and in my opinion - the wilder looking one of us, if he had seen a group of "younger folks"? and if he knew which trail led to the top of Bear Mountain.

Paul replied that we hadn't seen anyone else so far that day, and that this trail, the one we were on with the white blazes would take you to the summit. The man still seemed unsure so I  dug the my map out of my backpack and showed him. The man, never making eye contact or responding to me, asked Paul if this was correct.

As Paul and I set off down the trail, I couldn't help but ask if he thought that was weird, it was like I didn't exist and Paul agreed. "Did you notice the patch on his shirt?" he asked. "It said - Promise-Keepers".

"Seriously?" Incredulously, I replied."That explains a lot." The Promise-Keepers, are a "Christian evangelical ministry dedicated to uniting men to become godly influences" who believe among other things  that women as the vehicle for evil on earth, are second class citizens, and as I had just experienced - aren't the least bit shy about acting like it. 

Paul and I then spent the next hour while hiking up to the summit discussing various religious practices, ending with him telling me about the pagan ceremony (Paul being a practicing Pagan) in which a man becomes a warlock. We were pretty close to the summit, the day had become very hot and Paul had taken off his shirt, and I'd stripped down to tank-top and shorts and the trail was a single-track through bushy trees forcing us to walk single-file and for Paul to have to talk very loudly so I could hear him, even from behind.

He had just finished describing the Warlock Imitation Ceremony, how under a full-moon, the coven dances naked and the warlock submits to the witches when we came out into the summit clearing - a clearing entirely full of young male, spit-polished Promise-Keepers, staring at us - the almost naked -Pagan Warlock and Woman.  We smiled, said hi, and walked on. They remained frozen, impotent, in the presence of pure evil.

The Deerstalker

Now that I know they are up there on the hill behind the house, I can feel them looking down. Watching, waiting, patiently. Someday, someone will walk back up the hill and this time they won't stare at them, watch them from behind the rhododendrons, and then follow in their snowshoe tracks. No, next time those carnivorous deer will stalk that walker and take them down.

I first learned of the stalker deer innocently enough. After waiting 30 minutes on a snowy morning for a train that never came I decided to call it a day and go snowshoeing. The roads being impassable, the only place to go was up the trail onto the town land behind the house. I've walked up to the Powder House, and written about it before. It's a nice little walk up to a point of land over looking Manchester. But on this morning as I was fluffing through the 12 inches of fresh powder on the trail I suddenly felt eyes on me and looking up saw a herd of deer gathered around the Powder House. Awww. How beautiful, and how lucky I was to see them before they ran off. I slowly walked forward hoping to get closer but knowing that at any moment they'd bolt. But they didn't. In fact the biggest one actually stepped toward me. He was big. I stopped. He took another step. I took a step. He took a step. This was weird. I waved my arms and the herd ran off, He waited a minute, and then left.

Thinking that was that, I kept on down the trail, taking the loop North. And there they were again – on the trail, the whole herd staring at me. The big guy out front challenging me. I kept on walking and they slowly faded into the woods as I continued on the trail.

A little ways down the trail I heard a noise behind me, and there they were again. This time they were single file, big guy in the lead, following me, in the snowshoe track path. Well, I guess if you have to have stalkers, a whole herd of them, they might as well be deer. But the big guy was Big, and it was all just a bit too much for me.

I understand they were probably hungry, probably had been fed by people before, and undoubtedly, walking in the track was easier on their spindly little legs than taking on the 12 powder, still, whenever I look up at that hill, I know they are there, and I know they are watching.

Quelle Suprise, Mt. Moriah! [ 9 to go]

After a two month peakbagging layover S.D. and I were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves on the summit of Mt. Moriah. It was our first true winter summit (sure there was snow and blowing ice on Moosalauki but that was November) and the Carter-Moriah trail took us up over the ledges of Mt. Surprise which must have lovely views on a clear day. But I was happy enough that the wind wasn't blowing, it wasn't snowing and the temperature was above 0. Still, I was cold, then hot, then freezing, and all the time feeling the effects of hike-less months. After 3 hours of hiking, and feeling like I was crawling up  the hill, I turned a corner and there below my feet was the sign pointing out the side trail to the summit.

Winter summitting is a bit different. Looking for trail signs below your feet instead of above you. Walking up on the packed path, occasionally falling off the side into the 3 foot deep powder.  Seeing the alpine zone trees bending under all the snow weight, feeling the constant pressure to keep moving or freeze. Freezing your fingers only seconds after taking your gloves off to get the peanut butter sandwiches. And best of all - glisading down, which takes the Jane's Addiction song "Coming Down the Mountain" to a whole new level.

Chateau Shakedown

We took The Chateau up to Hancock Campground in the White Mountain National Forest for her first trip. We wanted to do some snowshoeing, check out the bushwhack trail to Owl's Head, and see how the Chateau would function as our Advanced Base Camp.  Would she make the 3 hour highway drive (would we?) How would she handle in the snow? Could the furnace keep us warm even when the temps fell to 19 degrees? Could we spend the night comfortably enough - keeping in mind that headroom was only 4'.?

The weather was perfect for the shakedown. Cold at night, sunny during the day. The Wilderness trail was a bit too well traveled. We really didn't need to break out the snowshoes until we took the side trail to Black Pond, but it was beautiful and the bushwhack will definitely be the way to go. After that we headed over to Franconia Falls and that too was lovely. Hiking in the snow is much more than - well, hiking in snow.  The whole world is different. Quiet. Wilder. Bluer, Whiter.

Speaking of blue. The Chateau, while not beautiful, did work out well with the exception of the furnace cutting out around midnight. So long as SD started the engine up every hour to fire it up again, and my Big Agnes Lulu sleeping bad stayed snug around me it was okay. He says its fixable so that shouldn't be a problem long term. We also need some insulating curtains - that's my job. Cooking and doing dishes, while a bit much on either the knees or the back, works fine. The upshot - being able to camp at the trailhead, with no fuss, in the winter, or anytime of year is so very sweet, and the Chateau is perfect!

The Chateau

What with New England winter upon us, the weather getting colder, the days shorter and the opportunities for peak bagging limited, we decided it was time to make some changes to our weekend routine. What we needed was somewhere warm to go. Somewhere the old folks that we are becoming could luxuriate in comfort. Somewhere with a big fluffy bed to spend the night and a pot of tea and a croissant would great us in the morning. And so we bought a Chateau.

A 1981 Ford Chateau Van that is. V6, manual transmission with only 117,000 miles, but most importantly - a dining table/bed, sink with running water, a real stove (from which you can lay in bed and boil water), a heater for those really cold New Hampshire mornings, .a port-a-potty in it's own tiny room, and storage for backpacks, snowshoes, skis et al. Ah – the luxury! Our own little ABC (Advanced Base Camp) on wheels.

ps - If anyone is interested in purchasing a 2004 Pontiac Vibe with only 87,000 miles - Let me know.

And then there were 10!

Only ten more of the New Hampshire 4000fter's to climb!

Carter Dome, Wildcat, Wildcat D, Moriah, Jefferson, Isolation, Owl's Head, Lincoln, Liberty and Flume.

Unfortunately each one is a little problematic - especially as winter approaches. Carter, the Wildcats, Jefferson, Lincoln, Liberty and Flume are notoriously icy. Owl's Head and Isolation are, well, isolated. A long walk under clear skies and long days, a trek in snow shoes and headlamps. And then, way up North in Gorham, is Moriah.

The big plan is to finish by my 50th birthday, and that is certainly doable, but we're on a roll, we're in shape now!  I don't want to stop but going on may require some type of change in strategy-just not sure what/how.

The Tripyramids: When is a trail not a trail?

...when it's a rock slide. 

It was Thanksgiving Day morning and I was plastered to the side of North Tripyramid. Sure I'd read the guide book carefully noting that the trail climbed up a rock slide, covered 1200ft in .5 miles and was "difficult and dangerous in wet or icy conditions" where "ice may form early in fall" . And yes I certainly knew I had problems with heights. But still, there I was half way up a trail that was really a vertical rock slab and very close to freaking out. S.D was urging me to admire the view, all I could look at was the ice-covered granite 6 inches from my nose.

It took a while, some careful guiding by S.D. and many small steps but eventually we reached the cairn at the top and gratefully plunged back into the safety of the pines.
The rest of the hike was nice. We enjoyed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich Thanksgiving feast on the North summit, then hiked along the ridge to the Middle and South summits.  Descending via the loosely graveled South slide was anti-climatic, and I thoroughly enjoyed the view to the South, over the lakes region.We completed the 11 mile loop in good time and went home to cross two more of the 4000fters off the list.

Mt. Moosilauke: The 4000fters and the gearheads who climb them in snow

It was a sunny, warm, 50 degree day back in Manchester, MA. At least that what my friends tell me. It's a little hard to believe considering that we less than 140 miles North, 4800ft. higher and in a blizzard.We were on the summit of Mt. Moosilauke, wearing every piece of clothing we had (and still cold), leaning into the 40 knot wind (and still getting knocked down).

There were no views, except of rhyme ice-covered, unreadable signs and the stone wall remnants from the Prospect/Tip-Top House, a popular Victorian-era summit motel but we were very happy to be there. As were the two other guys who summitted at the same time and the 8 other people we met on the way down.

It takes a special kind of hiker to be out in bad weather, climbing bald mountains on view-less days. I imagine we all shared the love of the outdoors, the challenge of the climb and a bit of obsessiveness. However, we didn't (and often don't), share an idea of what type of gear was required, and winter climbing seems to bring out a breed of gear-obsessive hikers that we'd not experienced before. With our down sweaters, techwick underwear, fleece gloves, wool hats, hiking boots we felt plenty warm. For gear we had our hiking poles, and if the trail had proved icy enough, (which it didn't) we also had microspikes. If we'd been delayed until dark we had headlamps. The idea being to carry a little more than you need but not so much that you weigh/slow yourself down.

The guys we summitted with shared our philosophy. They traveled fast (actually overtaking us 200 ft below the peak), dressed warmly and carried moderate-sized packs that presumably held the few items necessary for more extreme conditions.

The hikers we met while descending (they still heading for the exposed summit) all seemed of a different breed. The first couple, whom we met on the old Carriage Road trail between South peak and the summit, were struggling upwards with large backpacks and wearing their microspikes.  Microspikes are great for walking on ice, but there were only scattered patches of ice on the trail, and less than an inch of snow. We assumed that they assumed the summit was icer but when we told them the summit was icy but the trail was snow, they gave us a dismissive hand wave and trudged on.

Further down the Carriage Road (and trails named Carriage Road are wide, relatively flat, and once were traveled by horse and carriage) we came around a bend to find a lone woman standing in the middle of the trail. From a distance her enormous backpack was obvious, from closer it was clear that she was dressed for a full alpine assault. Snow parka and pants, over gloves, full gaiters and microspikes. Just as I came close enough to say hi, her hiking partner came around the bend.  The guy was seriously out of breath and just as seriously outfitted.  Assuming from the size of their packs that they had overnight gear I asked where they were headed. They looked at me like I had two heads. They were only going to the summit! The guy looked at our gear, obviously noting the daypacks, the lack of gaiters and the bare, microspikeless boots and commented that "at least we weren't wearing cotton pants" caught his breath and laboriously headed up the Road. Later S.D. told me the he saw an ice axe strapped to the guy's pack.

For the rest of the descent I couldn't help but notice their tracks, the distinct double-diamond impressions made by microspikes, as they wore them for 3 miles over ice-less, slightly snowy trail and wonder why? Why gaiters when there was no snow? Why micospikes when there was no ice? Why an ice axe when there was, and never would be, a reason for an ice axe on this trail? And what could have possibly been in those enormous packs?

Mt Osceola, and East Osceola: The Perfect Yoga Spot

Back in North Stonington, on the Connecticut/Rhode Island border, there is a trail to a high, large flat rock. Often I'd hike out that way and stop to practice yoga. While hiking all over New England I come across other inspirational spots. Open expansive areas that seem just perfect for sun salutations, tree poses, or a flow through the warrior posses. Often, while doing yoga videos I wonder why they choose to shoot in a stale empty room when they could have filmed out here, in the woods, grounding to the earth through a giant granite outcropping ribbed with quartz as opposed to cold, dull concrete.

But last Friday, I was thinking of none of that. It was sunny, warm and the sky was a deep blue. We started off from the Tripoli Rd. trailhead at 7:30 (just the time I'd usually be arriving at North Station) and quickly began climbing the 3.2 mile, 2300' elevation gain to the summit of Mt. Osceola. It's a great hike. There are plenty of views off to the East and while I did slide once crossing the ice on the rock faces above 3000ft the trail was pretty easy going. We arrived at the summit in a little over 2 hours.

And there on the summit, actually just a little below and to the North of the summit is a big, flat granite expanse open to splendid views to the East. A 180 degree panorama of forested peaks, deep green valleys, bald, glittering lakes and snow covered mountains. All beneath the clearest of blue skies - is The Perfect Yoga Spot. It's a setting that Rodney Yee's Hawaiian landscapes will never come close to matching.

We marveled for a few minutes then continued on the trail to East Osceola, another peak, a mile away over a much different, more challenging trail that included the infamous 'chimney' (a vertical 300 ft. climb/drop). East Osceola's summit was marked by a small cairn in the woods at which point we turned around and headed back to Osceola where we ate lunch and did a little yoga. Namaste.

Now that's an erratic

 It wasn't so much the snow blowing by at 30 mph as it was the ice hanging off the rock face that was intimidating. That, and the fact that if you were inclined to follow the yellow blazes that marked the trail, the realization that the icy rock face was the trail.

For the first 1.5 miles the trail climbed the 2000 ft to Glenn Boulder through forests of tall broad Beech and Hemlock. The snow falling gently, sticking only to the fallen leaves and dark green needles. But that all changed abruptly when we popped out above the treeline. And by abruptly I mean one step. A step up onto the rocks and the wind almost knocked you over as the snow bit into your face. A step back and it was once again a calm, gentle flurry. A step up and the snow fell on the rocks and melted to an icy sheen, a step down and it melted away.

The plan for the day was to hike the Glen Boulder trail to the Davis Trail, then go south, summit Mt. Isolation and head back. A 12 mile round trip that promised good hiking with over two miles of splendid views above treeline. The weather however, changed all that. With blowing snow, there would be no splendid views, and the time above treeline would be more than we'd planned for when setting out on a late fall hike.

So we hiked up to Glen Boulder, marveled at the snow building over the ridge from the direction of Mount Washington, took a few photos, debated the need for the microspikes, and headed down. I might be game for winter hiking, but I'm not quite ready for icy blizzard hiking.