Welsh-Dickey clamber
We did it. I certainly had my reservations, but I was also determined. It isn't that we lack determination but at our age the energy reserve is somewhat wanting. Despite which, although the ascent to Welsh and Dickey took us considerably longer than it had in the past, we did ascend successfully and well. And lived to enjoy the experience.
Looking at the photographs we took during the ascent of the two mountains I recall the pleasurable, not the onerous parts of the enterprise. We saw truly spectacular views of the surrounding mountains; Irving pointed out Tripyramid to me, and there were others. I remember, maybe twenty years ago, we had been climbing Tripyramid, one of the peaks anyway, Irving and Jody and me, and somehow I became really frightened at the sheer drop everywhere I looked, there seemed to be no comfort in the rockface we were climbing over, I felt completely vulnerable. I sat down and just refused to go any further. Disappointed, my two companions agreed we would have to descend, and believe me my personal descent began on my arse as I feared descending upright and I must have resembled a crab, edging my way arsewise down the rockface, until finally reaching a point where I felt sufficiently secure to continue on foot.
I never did feel that way about any of the other climbs we'd done. Mousalaki wasn't bad, although there were always points in the ascent which worried me. Little Haystack was the last sizeable climb we'd done, years ago. I really liked Mount Clinton, thought that was really the most comfortable climb, as well as the Coll leading over to Mount Eisenhower. Lafayette was a challenge; difficult enough up to the hut, but from then on up to the very summit it was agony. The view, though, the incomparable views. That's the point, isn't it? That, and pushing your body, your resolve to its very edge of endurance. It made us laugh away back then when the children were emerging young adults, climbing with us, after we'd completed Lafayette (we had a year or two earlier climbed only to Eagle's Cliff) to read that some truly enthusiastic and fit climbers actually ran the ascent and completed it in a truly impossible time frame, bearing heavy backpacks. Argh! Still, we managed as a group to always complete the climbs we undertook somewhat under the average time-frame given, a matter of some pride for us.
We had arrived in New Hampshire on Saturday, settled in to the cottage, did the food shopping. There was frost overnight and we looked forward to a cool day Sunday although the longer range forecast was for unseasonably hot weather for the balance of the week. So Sunday it would be, our most physically arduous effort of the week, doing the Welsh-Dickey circuit. No big deal when we were young, since they're only 2600 ft. and 2800 ft. respectively, but at our age, nudging the big 70, an effort. The day started out cool and we dressed accordingly, and although the temperature didn't reach much above 68 finally, the strenuous effort combined with a clear sky heated us up considerably. We plunged into the forest at the trailhead, Button off leash, Riley on the retractable leash, all of us happy to be there. The ascent at first is gradual but intractible, requiring a steady effort. For me far more difficult than for Irving, and I was forced to stop to rest often. Other hikers were passing us steadily and I didn't much care, was glad to cheer them on. Irving waited patiently with me until I was able to continue. For us a vital part of the climb is just being there, looking around at the trees, the undergrowth, the remnants of wild flowers; at this time of year mostly asters and goldenrod, but we could see where much earlier Ladies Slippers had bloomed in profusion, even trilliums still had foliage left as evidence they had once bloomed there. Despite our constant stops and starts we proceeded up the trail through the mountainside forest of Jackpine, spruce, fir, yellow birch and oak.
When we finally reached the first lookout it was with a bit of surprise that we had managed to get to that level, given my constant need to rest on the way there. We admired the lichens, the mosses, we and the pups staying on course lest we disrupt their fragile presence on the rough rockface. Truth to tell, it's tough to do otherwise, since local environmentalists/volunteers ensure hikers do just that by laying down branches to direct hikers' boots steadily on the path. We gave Button and Riley water, had a short rest (scant refuge from the relentless sun there), looked out over the cliff face to the arras below, then resumed our ascent.
Slow, steady work, and work it certainly was, for us. Still, happy to see on either side of the trail, rhododendrons and blueberry bushes, imagining the brilliant colour when the rhodos were in bloom, in the spring. We did see some dried-up blueberries that the bears, presumably, missed. (Only I doubt there are bears in these mountains. You don't have to go too far in the Ottawa area, just up to Gatineau Park to find bears, small black bears, and they compete with us for the jewelled berries of the season.) The large expanses of rockface might seem daunting to those who hadn't been there before, but once you hoist yourself up to the rock shelves, you lean your body into the effort and slowly, gradually, gain height. Our two dogs, on their little padded feet were doing just fine, although Button, older than Riley by six years, needs constant compliments and encouragement and the occasional drink of water. On the other hand, she likely recalls this climb. Although they both did it with us last year and likely the year before, I'm not certain Riley recalls it. When we come to really high rock shelves that we have to clamber over Riley panics, he knows it's too high for him to jump up to, and he feels threatened by that. I stoop down and lift him over and he's fine. When these rocky shelves are high enough, they pose a problem for Button too and she gets lifted over. We thrust ourselves carefully through rocky defiles, always looking for the next marker, yellow daubs on the rocks to indicate the way.
A young woman with a large dog, part German Shepherd, has stopped below us to rest, and soon climbs again and overtakes us. She, laughing, agrees with me, that our legs aren't accustomed to this kind of punishment. I can see evidence that young women in their 20s and 30s, sometimes accompanied by male companions are experiencing symptoms similar to mine; lungs gasping for air, legs heavy with fatigue. But they're young and these symptoms are transitory, and they forge on at surely twice the speed we can manage. Then an old geezer like us, gasps gamely alongside us for a short while before he too leaves us in his determined wake.
The sun is hot, although there's a blessedly cooling breeze wafting over us. We're no longer in the shelter of trees once we've gained the bald rock face and struggle upward. Button, clever girl that she is, seeks the shelter of shade wherever she can, but it's becoming less and less possible for her to do so, and she pants continually. Irving climbs, as he hikes, using a stout stick and that helps, I know, but I've never been able to become accustomed to holding one. All the more so as I'm holding Riley's leash in one hand and need the other to grab onto things from time to time, to hoist myself, grasping the rock face, up over the rock at various points. Irving is managing much better than me, and he offers me his hand often. I eschew his aid, for two reasons, the more important one of which is that I want him to focus on his own well being, not mine. Last time we were up here it had been after a rain, and the many little depressions in the rock face we scramble over were filled with water, and Button had stopped often to drink from them.
Just when I think I can't manage to clamber upward any more, another expanse of rock faces us and up we go, steadily, slowly. We turn back often to look at what we've left behind us, see the first lookout far below us, marvelling that we've come so far. Irving has been taking pictures with his camera at these times, and occasionally he'll sneak a quick one of me and the dogs as well. I'm too tired to notice much of that, but never too tired to stand, enraptured at the arras before us, the peaks of shorter mountains that surround the one we're on.
When we reach the summit we sit briefly, hand out a few favourite treats to Button and Riley. Riley is seated beside us, but not Button. She has crept down slightly and is crouching under a bit of shade being afforded by low-growing conifers, stunted by the weather at this altitude. She leaves her shade reluctantly whenever I urge her to come over and retrieve another little treat. Then it's time to carry on, and we do. Irving proceeds boldly descending to the Coll and I'm considerably more cautious, half-sliding down the first few precarious feet on my arse, until I feel sufficiently secure to stand upright and proceed in the descent decently. The cairn looks somehow shorter, smaller, than it had in previous years, and the sign is gone. We proceed in the ascent, through a small bit of forest, then back onto the bare rockface again, and up, up, up. We come across a young man carrying two walking sticks, clicking them along the rockface as he proceeds. He's got a sweetly cheerful manner and stops to talk with us awhile, cheering us up considerably. We say our good wishes to one another and he proceeds in the opposite direction to us (he climbed Dickey, then Welsh) and we mount Dickey, looking about, and actually now looking down at the summit of Welsh which we'd left just a short while earlier.
My favourite part of this circuit is ahead, as we trek from one rockface, in our descent, to another, gradually, but relatively quickly in comparison to the ascent, losing height. Again we dip for a short while into the forest, then a switch-back takes us back onto the rockface, all the while descending at a fair clip. Button and Riley have picked up their gait by now as well. Irving mentions that the toes of one of his feet are a little sore in the descent. Soon we've dipped down off the last of the rock ledges into the forest and from then on we're on the trail, descending, careful to avoid treacherous exposed roots and maintaining balance on the scattered rocks on the surface of the trail. We're not descending at a mad pace, but rather a measured one. My knees are feeling wobbly from the pressure of the ascent and the time on the move, and Irving's toes are really bothering him.
Small groups of people pass us cheerily, in either direction. Those ascending are slower and even slightly grim in the process, while those descending as we are, appear light-hearted about their endeavour. I tell a group in the ascent that they're headed in the wrong direction. Good for a sardonic grin. A group of four people, two men, two women, and a large yellow Lab pass us, but soon afterward we hear a commotion and realize that they're running back up, toward us. I ask whether the dog had unearthed something like a porcupine, because they appear concerned about the dog, pouring water on it. But no, it appears that there are wasps somewhere close ahead. We briefly consider bushwhacking a short distance but it seems kind of overkill, and we decide to proceed. The four tell us that if we don't experience any problems, they'll proceed after us.
Well, what do you know? There are wasps at the side of the trail and they do go after us. Button and Irving mostly, because they're ahead. Irving beats them off, speeds ahead after picking Button off, and begins to actually pull the bloody things off her, off her eyes, his midriff. So I do bushwhack, carrying Riley, until we pass the area where the wasps have gathered, as do the other trekkers. By that point we're fairly close to the trailhead, and another half-hour of steady descent takes us there. Actually, we're kind of trying to keep up with Button; her trauma revolving around her distinct hatred of biting, stinging insects has her anxiously trotting ahead, us trying to reassure her that the bloody wasps are no longer with us.
When we get to the parking lot, we see a group of three men whom we recognize as having passed us just shortly before the four people with the yellow Lab had, and Irving asks them if they'd had an encounter with the swarming wasps, and they hadn't. Really? How interesting, just our luck. But we couldn't let a little (relatively speaking) thing like that spoil our day's adventure, and we don't. Button has a little swelling over one of her eyes, and Irving has a number of stings on the fingers of one hand, and on his waist.
But we did it!
posted by Pieface @ Thursday, September 22, 2005
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