Outdoors – Page 6 – Grace Mattern

June 10, 2013

Above the Trees: June

This month we not only got above the trees, we got above tree line. And into the clouds. As we reached the summit of Mt. Moosilauke, the clouds that had been hiding the higher summits began to break into wind-blown sheets of mist, then lifted enough to open up a view of the mountains to the east.

At one point a ceiling of cloud settled into the notch, between Moosilauke and Franconia Ridge, sunlight streaking the distant slopes. Another day outside, another hike that reminded us why we committed to the intention of getting above the trees at least once a month this year.

May 14, 2013

Above the Trees: May Haiku

Granite ledge edges
Tree-tufted valley below
Yellow sodden green.

April 23, 2013

Above the Trees: April

Notice the title has changed; not above tree line, but above the trees. David and I got up Sunday morning with the intention of driving to the White Mountains to hike Mt. Pierce, fulfilling our New Year’s intention for April. But after a busy week of travel for family visits, and an upcoming week of more travel, we didn’t want to spend a good part of the day in the car. This intention was meant to help us make time to do something we enjoy, not to turn into a chore or an obligation. We already have plenty of those.

So we climbed Mt. Major, a small mountain south of Lake Winnipesaukee, bare granite at the top because of a long-ago fire, with beautiful views across the lake to the above tree line ridges of the White Mountains to the north. We decided getting above the trees would do just fine, and it did.

We were home in time to sit in the sun, out of the wind, and let some of the new season sink in. We needed that.

April 2, 2013

Last Ski

Alison and I did a last ski of the season on Sunday. Okay, maybe it wasn’t classic skiing. It was more like walking in the woods with skis attached to our boots, including literally walking in big ski steps across the open parts of the trail. At the height of our climb up Tarleton Road, just below the steep pitch to Neville Peak, there was still a good bit of snow, though it was very soft and wet.

But further down the trail, there were many spots where the snow was gone, so we skied around grass and sticks and rocks. At one point coming down a hill, one of my skis was gliding through the wet snow, the other slipping through a mud puddle. But we were skiing, celebrating a great season of snow.

A good ski year is always a reason to be grateful, and this year I’m also grateful on behalf of someone I love who has most likely had her last ski, period. As in she is so sick she most likely won’t be here during ski season next year, and if she is, she won’t be skiing. She could barely ski this year. I carry that reality with me, grateful for what I have and what I can do, and holding on to awareness of those I bring with me, those who can’t be out kicking and gliding through the frozen world themselves.

March 28, 2013

Above Tree Line: March

We walked into another world today — the alpine zone on the Franconia Ridge. Waking to a cloudy day that didn’t have a promising forecast, we kept moving with our plan to meet Ellen and hike today, knowing this was our last free day to get above tree line in March. As we drove up 93 towards the mountains, we could see the white peaks of Mt. Lafayette and Mt. Liberty gleaming in spots of sunshine, clouds breaking open to blue sky above us.

The sun was shining through the freshly snow showered trees as we started out on the Falling Waters Trail. But by the time we got to the falling water that gives the trail its name, the clouds had moved back in and soon after that it started snowing. It snowed the rest of the hike.

The trail was well packed under the few inches of new powder, so we had no trouble following the worn depression in the snow. The only trouble was when we accidentally stepped even inches off the track — posthole, a leg lost up to the crotch in snow.

The Falling Waters Trail is a steep climb up the west side of the ridge, but it was stunningly beautiful. Snow and ice on the river, snow on branches, snow on spruce, snow on our hats and our backs. Snow so deep ten foot trees looked four feet tall, and a sign that in summer is at head height was at my knees.

We kept trudging up and up and finally broke out into the alpine zone, above the trees, 3,000 feet above where we started. The view was mostly snow and cloud, with one ridge rising out of the fogginess to our south. Then we turned around and slid, slipped and glided down, another month’s above tree line intention done.

March 20, 2013

Spring Skiing

Spring began at 7:02 this morning, just as it started to snow again. Scattered flakes thickened, picked up speed and blew past the windows, accenting the black and white world outside. The flurry only lasted a few minutes, but it added to the 3″ of powder we got last night, on top of the 10″ we got yesterday.

Today is the Vernal Equinox, when daylight and darkness are equal. Now we slip over into each day being a bit longer than each night, a reason for celebration beyond the treat of having another day of skiing. I was sure an afternoon ski on wet snow last week was my last, because I knew it was going to rain the next day. I’m happy to have been wrong.

David and I finished our coffee and headed out to the trail, as we did yesterday. Thankfully a neighbor was out on his snowmobile last night, so we had the delight of skiing through a few inches of powder on top of a packed trail, rather than having to make our own track which is what we did yesterday. “I love how storms like this show the horizontal in the woods,” David said and I agreed, taking in the snow draped limbs surrounding us.

A few weeks ago I ran into a friend at the grocery store, and he heard the hesitation in my “Okay,” when he asked me how I was. When he asked what was wrong, I listed my latest set of worries and troubles.

“Well you never get 100%,” he said. “So I try to concentrate on the 65 or 75% I do get.”

Today marks 50% daylight, 50% darkness. And my attention to gratitude for the 75%.

February 28, 2013

Above Tree Line: February

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The winter world on Mt. Washington’s eastern slope was in black and white on Tuesday, when David and I fulfilled our intention to get above tree line for February. We hiked into the alpine zone at the base of Tuckerman’s Ravine, on a wide well-packed trail. Before we left on our hike we could see we’d be hiking into the cloud cover over the mountain. The view above tree line was of snow, cloud, and dark spruce trees below, mounded with white. The monochrome day reminded me of a poem from years ago.

Absence or Everything

Moon laced through cold
curtains, the world
in black and white
since the last storm.

Glass feathers freeze,
skin seeks skin, vision
blurs as if walking
into winddriven snow.

The bedroom pinkens,
yet still, outside,
monochrome
trees, fields, fences, sky.

February 12, 2013

Blizzard

I couldn’t ski the winter after Eric died. He had once said about me, “Grace would choose cross-country skiing above everything except her children,” and he’d been right. Though I had started as a downhill skier (I cut insignias and racing numbers out of sticky cloth for my father’s sail making business as a young teen, 5 cents a number, saving to buy myself inexpensive downhill skis and skiing lessons at the ridiculously small, but still skiable, Blue Hill Ski Area outside Boston) from the first time I cross-country skied I was in love.

My parents gave me wooden Bona skis for Christmas in 1977. Eric and I were living with friends in Williamstown, MA, and there was an abundance of snow and hills. I went out into the sloping fields across the street from our house one afternoon and came home and told Eric he needed to buy skis. He did, though he’d never done any kind of skiing before, and gamely followed me up and down hills, learning to snowplow, learning to turn, learning to glide. That was the beginning of almost 30 years of skiing together. When I was first faced with skiing without him, I just couldn’t do it.

Then the next winter came, and I realized that not skiing, because Eric couldn’t ski, wasn’t doing anyone any good, least of all me. “Get over yourself and get out there,” I said to myself, and I did.

When the grand dump of snow blew in to New Hampshire at the end of last week I was delighted. The idea of a blizzard, as long as people could be safe and warm and dry, was exciting. Waking up Saturday to continued snow and drifts up to my hips all I could think about was getting out skiing. Which made me think about Eric. “Active with glide,” was how Eric described his favorite outdoor activities — skiing, kayaking, biking, swimming.

I was in touch with Adrienne and Sam Saturday morning, both of them wanting to ski as much as me, but too far away to join me. And my sister, who loves to ski but can’t manage it right now due to health challenges, had told me to ski for her. So I had a whole pack skiing in my head this past weekend, gliding along for the ride.

January 12, 2013

Above Tree Line

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“I’d like to get above tree line once a month,” David said, when I asked him if he had any New Year’s intentions. I didn’t want to talk about resolutions — too resolute. Being intentional about making sure we do things that make us happy is another thing altogether.

Hiking up to an open ridge makes both of us happy, so we began making plans earlier this week for a hike up the Crawford Path in the White Mountains to Mt. Pierce today. We emailed some hiking buddies, got an enthusiastic response, and ended up with 10 people hoping to hike with us. The weather forecast wasn’t promising, but David and I were willing to do the hike in almost any conditions, short of downpours.

Then the forecast worsened, by 8:00 last night it was raining, and the other hikers started to bail out of the hiking plan. By the time we went to bed last night, we were down to 5 of us planning to hike. We got up early this morning and checked a high summit forecast, and looked at the radar. No rain anywhere in New England and a chance for some breaks in the clouds this afternoon. So we drank coffee and started packing up to go. Another set of hikers dropped out via email, and I called the friends who live up north as we drove into the mountains. They also took a pass, but David and I kept driving.

By the time we got to the trailhead, I knew we’d made the right choice. Clouds were lifting all around us, and we could see the range to the south of us. The trail was well-packed powder, making hiking effortless with just microspikes on our boots. “No rocks, no roots, no bugs,” David and I said to each other, the winter hiking refrain. As we climbed the snow on the trees thickened, draping the spruce, and the sun began to break through the clouds.

When we got above tree line, the southern slopes of the Presidential range swept off to the north, occasionally threaded with a piece of cloud. From the summit of Mt. Pierce, we could see the tops of the mountains to our south, dark peaks in a sea of clouds. With unusually warm and still weather, we were able to take a lunch break on the summit, then walk a bit further up the ridge, just to enjoy the view.

Above tree line for January: done!

November 21, 2012

Mountains and Cows and Moving

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Saturday we climbed Mt. Liberty. It was a cold day, even with the bright sun, and stopping along the trail as I hiked to the top of the Franconia Ridge, I chilled easily and had to start moving again. But at the summit there was full sun and no wind, the least wind I’ve ever experienced on that ridge. While we ate lunch I savored the view, and let the sun heat the black jacket across my back.

Yesterday morning we pulled up the shades in the bedroom and the cows in the pasture across the street were staring right into windows. Could they see us? Frisky all day, they kept sniffing and jumping on each other’s rear ends, watching me as I did a final mow of the yard, then trotting again in a circle around the close corner of the field, as close to me as they could get.

Top to bottom, field to forest, long sloping ridge lines to cow eyes tracking my day. I keep moving through whatever is next.