Arethusa Falls

After the day of hiking blunders I made the day before, I awoke the next day resolved to hike to Arethusa Falls. This day, however, was overcast, so I hung close to campsite in the morning, trying to decipher the clouds.  There was to be some altitude gain on this hike and I didn't want to be caught in a heavy rainstorm or lightening at the top of some mountain. I waited until nine o’clock. and given the lack of wind and the fact the clouds weren't getting any darker, I decided to go for it. 

We walked the two lane highway to the trailhead and found ourselves going up a steep, rocky incline from the get-go. I get cocky when a trail that isn't high in the Rockies. Sure, this goes up a few thousand feet feet in a short span of distance, but its not at 10,000 feet, is it? Every time, such steep hikes at low elevations consistently kick my butt. 

You'd think I'd learn some humility. 

This trail was no different. we went up and up and more up. No zig-zags. No hairpin turns. Just up. Over boulders and trees and huge roots. Up and up and more up.  At the trailhead, the sign said the hike was "moderate" and one should plan on one hour to get up to the falls and one hour down. I soon adjusted this for me and my conditioning to anticipate closer to an hour and a half up and two hours down.

After going up for over an hour, Zoey and I finally encountered a couple on their way down. When I asked if we were close to the falls, and saw the pity that filled their faces, I knew that we were not. The first part of the trail was over roots and boulders. The second part of the trail was over recently positioned trail logs. Huge trail logs. Some hit me above the knee, and I climbed over these on my hands and knees. Three trail logs were too big even for Zoey. She gave a mighty effort to get up and over them, but I ended up having to go back down over the log and assist her arthritic hips up and over.

I don't want to tell the other people who hike this trail that Arethusa Falls was a bit of a disappointment. But, they were. True. They are the tallest falls in the state. But I was hoping to get much closer to them than the trail allowed.  

There was such a great distance between the top of the trail and the falls, that there wasn't any thunderous sound of water or any cool mist to cool my overheated body. It was pretty, but not as dramatic as hoped. The trail reminded me a bit of the Hanging Lake trail outside of Glenwood Springs, Colorado. But the end result was nothing close to the endorphin high one feels when finally reaching Hanging Lake and the waterfalls that tumble into it.  

Then we had the dreaded downhill trek. Dreaded, because my right knee doesn't support me when stepping down steep steps, so every step down had to be taken with my left knee absorbing my body weight.  Oh how I wished I had some climbing sticks! Zoey does better if she goes first down and I let her take the lead again which she did with gusto until she almost went tumbling down the side of the hill into a steep ravine. She didn't didn't recognize the soft shoulder of the right side of the trail and lost her footing and fell off the trail with only me holding her leash. Between her furtive scrambling with her hind legs, and the adrenaline pumping through my body willing my hands to not let go of her leash, she somehow managed to regain her footing and get back up on the trail. She never approached the right side of the trail the rest of the way down.

In the end, the trail up took us two hours, to reach the top and took us three hours to get down. My legs were like jelly when we finally reached the bottom of the trail.  Zoey and I savored our last bit of water before hobbling along the road back to our campsite.  As though the gods were holding their collective breaths while we hiked, as soon as we reached out campsite, the clouds opened up and it began to rain. It rained steadily all night long.

While in New Hampshire - Part I

(Working title option 1: The Day Zoey Became a Service Dog)

(Working title option 2: Why to Begin a Hike at the Trail's Head)

We arrived at the Dry River Campground in Crawford Notch State Park late afternoon Monday. It was a nice campground with about thirty large spots surrounded by large hardwood trees. I got a trail map of the area from the Ranger-less Ranger station and studied how we might hike to one of the waterfalls that this area is known for. The map indicated that there were two approaches to the waterfall trail. One was to walk 0.5 mile along the highway to that particular trailhead. The other approach was to take what the map called a, "connector trail" that started at the back of the campground and ran 0.6 mile thru the woods ending at the desired trailhead.  I opted to take the slightly longer hike thru the woods and avoid the highway. 

Zoey and I easily found where the connector trail connected to the campground and began to follow the blue marks painted on the trees. It was a level path and I smiled at how easy this trail was to follow and how seemingly unnecessary the blue markers seemed to be. Soon, however, the trail took a turn and crossed a boulder field. These large granite boulders are the remains of glacial melting eons ago, leaving behind these huge river rocks. Also adding to the challenge were many large fallen trees that also now lay like debris in our path.  Once we were out of this boulder field, we resumed following the blue marks, which were now fewer and further between. Between the exposed tree roots, deep underbrush and the persistent river rocks on steroids, the trail was now a physical challenge.  The path was not nearly as discernible. I tried to walk towards a blue mark and stop there until I could spot the next blue mark before proceeding deeper into these woods.  A few times, though, this was not possible. No blue mark could be seen in the distance. These trail markers were no longer just on trees. Sometimes the mark was on a boulder. Other times it was painted directly on the rock where we walked. I would scan in one direction looking first high, and then low. Then in another direction, looking high, then low. When I could not spot the next blue mark, I found something notable in the spot where i stood, and then counted out my paces into the woods, turning to retrace my steps if my effort did not result in locating a blue trail marker. 

After over an hour of walking like this, I finally came upon a trail sign. Much to my dismay, it read my destination remained 0.5 miles ahead. How could we have walked for an hour and only advanced 0.1 mile? I later learned there were three different connector trails and I had somehow manged to navigate from one to the other, mid hike. I did take some comfort in knowing that we were, at least, still walking in the right direction. 

Our trek continued to become increasingly more difficult with the underbrush becoming thicker. I got off course at one point. I scanned and paced and scanned again. But no blue marks. So I paced off more steps and scanned again. Then paced off even more steps.  I turned to retrace my steps to the last known blue mark and was unable to locate it. I began to feel a sense of panic, right before I found a big blue mark on the ground, one I did not see before.  I looked ahead in the direction I thought the trail must go, and spotted another blue mark in the distance. We were back on the path!

I dropped Zoey's leash and let her follow freely behind me.  I was fairly certain we were the only ones in these woods and holding on to her leash while navigating over rocks and trees and exposed roots was becoming hazardous. However, her leash now dragging created sounds that had me turn around frequently thinking I was hearing someone approaching from behind. After about a half dozen unnecessary stops to turn around and canvass the woods behind us, only to find nothing, I began to ignore these sounds. We continued to shinny ourselves up over boulders and downed trees.

Then I realized I no longer heard Zoey behind me. I turned around to call her and was startled to see a man standing several yards behind me holding on to Zoey.

I said, "Oh! You scared me!"

He laughed and said, "Such a good dog." Then he let go of her leash and she came quickly towards me. I was annoyed by him not apologizing for frightening me and perplexed by him holding on to Zoey. The man continued to approach. He was wearing hiking gear and carried a day pack, so his presence in these woods seemed intentional, which gave me some reassurance. 

"I didn't hear you come up behind me," I said, offering him another chance to apologize for his poor hiking etiquette. Again he ignored me. Then I noticed he was wearing ear buds so I reasoned he probably didn't hear my admonishments. Once he was passed us and was a few yards ahead I said (assuming he wouldn't hear this either), "Will these woods ever end?"

"Eventually," he called back, while still in full stride into the trees ahead.

"Ass hole," I muttered.

Zoey was eager to follow this man. I didn't blame her. He looked like he knew where he was going - - and I obviously did not. I held on to her leash and let him get ahead and out of sight before proceeding.  I kept looking for the blue marks while Zoey held her nose firmly to the ground obviously tracking the man who we encountered. Not too soon after, I lost sight of the blue marks again and resumed my methodical pacing and retracing process. At one point, Zoey jerked me to the left in a direction that didn't feel right, but when I looked up, there was the elusive blue mark. I decided I'd let her lead and she confidently led me to the next blue mark. 

And the next. 

And the next.

It was Zoey's nose that got us out of those woods and back to the road where this connector trail supposedly officially started. Unlike my trail map, the trail's head had a warning posted: "Due to heavy rains in this area, portions are washed out. Take care and be sure to tell someone of your hiking plans before proceeding." 

It took us three and half hours to slog our way through these woods to the road. We still had the waterfall trail to hike. I looked at Zoey and she at me. We walked back to the campsite instead.