September | 2024 | When I Get Home

Monthly Archives: September 2024

by timcushing | September 26, 2024 · 2:13 pm

Two Mountains, Two Subarus, and The Green Man (18/48)

The goal was two in one day. I had done some tough hikes but hadn’t yet attempted two trails in a 24 hour span. Early on in the 48 endeavor I had flagged on my map that the Osceolas and Moosilauke trail heads were a short drive apart. I decided to tackle them back to back.

Both trails sprouted from Tripoli road, a seasonal mostly dirt obstacle course of punishing potholes that could wreck a lesser car. Luckily, I drive a Subaru.

I made my usual late start and arrived to a packed Osceola parking lot. Finding a spot on the side of the road, I began my ascent. The pre-hike details were beginning to feel more automatic, and the mental checklist wasn’t such a chore. A routine was developing and bringing with it confidence. Food, check, poles, check, coat, check, etc.

The climb up Osceola was a pleasant one. The usual roots and rocks, but my body was beginning to respond. My legs had no trouble winding their way around the traps that came up in the trail. There was a new bendiness to them as they contorted and chopped their way up the trail.

At the summit I was greeted with the reason for the full parking lot. A crowd of people was milling at the top, a mix of larger and smaller groups. A crowd of teenage boys postured and joked, flexing for photos. Some more reflective hikers chewed granola bars with pensive looks into the distance. The reason for the popularity was apparent–some of the more panoramic and stunning views enveloped the summit. But the crowd wasn’t my scene so I quickly moved onto the east peak.

A hundred feet down the trail I regained solitude and took in more amazing views. Breathing a sigh of relief, I embarked onto a mile-long torture-fest to the east peak.

After some of the more gnarly scrambles that I had encountered, I arrived at an underwhelming pile of rocks that marked the peak. I sucked down a gel and turned around, making my way back to the main summit.

The Osceola descent was a nice one. By the time I got back to the main peak, the crowds had dispersed and I paused to take it in. But I had another mountain to climb so pried myself away and hurried down the trail. I regained an old speed on the descent that I hadn’t felt for a few years. With a mile to go, I caught up with the teenagers. Their pubescent competition kicked in as I caught them and one tried to race. I turned on the jets and coasted back to my trusty Subaru steed, climbed in, and made the quick drive to the Tecumseh trailhead.

I began the second ascent around 3:00. A few hikers debriefed in the empty lot about the trail. They exchanged stories about a man that they had encountered dressed in green on the trail. I pocketed the soundbites away and quickly hit the trail before my muscles had time to cool.

The ascent was a buttery one. Beautiful soft trails with only a minor challenge towards the top. Arriving at a ridge, I began to trot. Cooler late-day temperatures. The idyllic scent of pines. This was what it was all about. I coasted around curves and soaked it in. And then I almost tripped on him.

Sitting on a random patch of moss by the trail was a man in head-to-toe green with camouflage accents. He was just sitting there, looking at the trees. It wasn’t a spot with a view. It was a dark patch of trail. He didn’t look up or acknowledge me. This was the Green Man’s domain. I ran faster than I had all day.

I made it to the quiet summit and took a long rest.

The descent was just as buttery. Of course, there was the gnawing idea of the Green Man in the back of my mind. He wasn’t in the same spot as I came down. There was just a nondescript indent in the moss where he had been sitting. Had he taken to the woods? Was he watching me from some carefully selected perch? I checked behind me more than once as I came down the mountain.

I caught up with the Green Man about a mile from the parking lot. He was sauntering in the early evening light, his outfit miraging with the woods. He gave me a brief glance and a hint of a nod as I went by this time. Nothing threatening.

The parking lot was a welcome sight. Only one car was left, another Subaru with veteran plates. I set up my camping chair and peeled off my shoes. The Green Man emerged shortly thereafter and meticulously began to de-hike. There was a military efficiency as he hit his boots together, changed into shoes, placed his gear in the back. We all find something different on the trails.

Distance: 21.5km

Time: 4 hours 30 minutes

Music: LCD Soundsystem, The Long Goodbye (Live at Madison Square Garden)

Post-run Food: Sal’s Pizza

“We got Wildcatted Bro” (15/48)

It’s become an almost yearly tradition: my brother Jonathan flies over from the east coast for his yearly Maine visit and we devise a punishing day hike through the Whites. This peaked (pun intended) a few years with a 12 hour torture fest around the Pemi Loop that left us comatose and craving our home town’s notoriously mediocre Chinese food to heights previously thought impossible.

Since moving to Oregon, my brother has taken on the mantle of full blown “mountain man.” Every conversation for the past near-decade has centered around a newly completed or upcoming adventure: fishing, backcountry skiing, ice climbing. If there was a sport called extreme puppeteering I bet he’d try it.

Needless to say, he arrived to the Pine Tree State eager for a challenge. I found myself firmly on the other side of the spectrum, opting for a more leisurely approach. With the passive-aggressive negotiation skills that only brothers can have, we started to haggle. He wanted 20 miles, I wanted 10. We arrived at a compromise of a 15.5 mile traverse of the Carters and Wildcats. Easy peasy? Nope.

The hike began after a quick car drop at Pinkham Notch. We had driven the short distance from our childhood town in Western Maine, stopping to sleepily munch breakfast at a coffee shop on the way. Finally the trail was ours. We gave a little whoop and took first steps. Immediately I saw my brother gallop off into the distance, disappearing around a bend. Our paces reflected our initial planning approaches: I moseyed, he bounded. I decided to fire up Neil Young on my headphones and continue my leisurely pace, spotting glimpses of Jonathan (trail name Mad Dog) around bends in the trail.

We reconnoitered at Imp Shelter and made some jokes before continuing up to Carter Ridge. The trail was a pleasant one with only a few spots of tricky rocks, root or mud. The day was shaping up. Peaks were hit or miss, some just a pile of rocks in a clearing. It was a foggy day anyway that wasn’t going to offer stunning views. Carter Ridge ticked away with an easy pace.

I haven’t mentioned until now that there was another factor at play besides decades of entrenched brotherly competition: my brother’s son had turned one year old that day and we were due back for his birthday party. As we descended Carter Ridge we realized that the day was ticking on. We were tired. We wanted to bail and find a quicker way home. There wasn’t one. Our eyes drifted from the picturesque pond up to the daunting peaks of Wildcat Ridge.

The ridge seemed to be never-ending. An hour ticked by, we hit another peak to climb. Another hour, another peak. The needle on the misery meter slowly started to move into red. I almost bonked halfway through the trudge up Wildcat D and was saved by some electrolye gummies. At least the descent was near–that would be a welcome friend after all of the incline (at least that’s what we told ourselves.) Oh sweet naivety, how I long for your honeyed optimism!

The final Wildcat peak gave us Sound of Music level lush fields and views. The sun had come out but I was too tired to snap a photo. We rushed through and started to make the descent. Only a mile or so of down to go and then we would have an easy flat trail to the car. Our immediate greeting was a massive boulder that we had to slide down with the focus of a tight rope walker.

The next mile was one of the roughest of the 48 project so far. A steep descent through biting granite crags. We could hear the highway the entire time but didn’t appear to get any closer to it. A few lookout spots along the way showed us how little progress we had made. We occasionally peppered the silence with curses.

By the time we reached the bottom the water was gone and so was our spirit. We trudged to a pond where we had to stop to filter some H2O and collect ourselves. We moved with synchronized practice, handing snacks to each other. The parking lot appeared and we climbed into the car.

Before turning the key, Jonathan paused with a faraway look in his eye. “What the hell?” was all that he could muster in the way of conversation.

“We got Wildcatted bro,” I said.

We drove in brotherly silence to pick up the drop car before making our way back to civilization and my nephew’s birthday party.