Social Animals -- Part Two -- Winter at Baxter.

(Below is a partial transcript of a hand written journal from the previously mentioned visit to South Branch Pond/Baxter State Park in February 2013.)
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I have been tasked with being Wake-Up Person tomorrow.  I volunteered; I like being awake first and being a waker-upper.  As at Friends Camp, I shall sing.  But what?  Once Again, Let's Jump, Makedonsko Devoche, Jovano...?

This was still up....from last fall.

After a not-particularly-sleep-filled night -- but earplugs are awesome -- the shoutings of coffee addicts were flung lustily about the cabin by incoming lean-to-folk...Up eventually, and with some undisclosed amount of groaning, I eventually nommed some homemade bread and hummus while others created impressive fried-egg sandwiches on the giant Coleman stove.  There is pretty wild backcounty food creation at all meals.  And at snacks.  So basically nonstop.  And everyone is enlisted to help eat.  "I'm not carrying this out!" is the oft-heard excuse.

MountainPa

Arms still wasn't up and MEB was getting antsy to hike.  (Anyone who hasn't seen MEB being antsy...well...think hurricane in a fishbowl.)  I took a long time readying my gear; meanwhile the decision had been made by some to ski and snowshoe up the Fowler Brook Trail.   Others followed.  I hoped to see the long, open ridge that Unc and I had ogled two Junes ago.

Most of my pics seem to be from during non-snow times...

I started with a pretty heavy day pack, not really knowing what the day would bring.  Having had enough skiing for a while after yesterday, I grabbed an ice ax, one ski pole, and snowshoes, decisions I was glad I'd made due to eventual steep terrain.

I traveled alone, soon catching up to Donna, Christine, and MountainPa, and ending up ahead of them.  The others were further along already, except Arm who was still at the bunkhouse, probably "giving birth" and doing a "safety check."

Snow began to softly fall and the trail was easy to follow, a transverse approach sloping steeply down on one side and up on the other.  Fantastic lichen on all varieties of birches could have consumed my entire camera battery.  I tried to conserve it for Travelers Loop tomorrow.

The Doubtful Guest?  This little creature made me think of Scout.

The snow picked up as I ascended.  The silence and winter scenery on the peaks across the valley filled me with sheer love. With each step, I felt more and more awash with love for this incredible place, Maine, my home...

Continuing up and up, I soon realized the group's path had become a bushwhack.  Still easy to follow.  Though not sore, the body was tired from the previous day of the relatively unfamiliar task of xc skiing and pulk hauling...

Viewpoints opened up and the clouds stayed high even with increasingly heavy snow.  Soon I saw the trail drop into a ravine, and it appeared to hit a summit shortly thereafter.  I was close enough to the lead group at the point, who had abandoned their skis trailside a while back, to hear them chatting and laughing as they paused ahead.  But I wasn't sure I wanted to continue.

Pausing, snowing harder, higher up, colder wind.  I turned back with what I'll imagine was the squall's blessing.  My surroundings were ridiculously beautiful.  I seem have a postcard in my brain of this particular spot.  I was thankful not to feel summit fever.

Soon I encountered the great Arm, face to face, ascending as I was descending.  He looked completely and totally in his element, quietly hiking along, covered in snow, crowned by tawny wolf-gray hair.  Such a peaceful presence, he is.  We didn't linger long.  There seemed little that needed saying.  In a good way.

The snow stopped, started, and stopped again.  I ended up with the perfect day/duration of snowshoeage, about 5 miles, for my tired physique.

And someone even made a cock-n-balls scupture.  Talented crew...

I cannot get enough of South Branch Pond...

Shizzy just arrived.  Everyone's been talking about him and most had given up on his arrival.  Now he is being fed soup, M&Ms, pizza and meatballs, as have most of us. So much food here.  Music.  Woodstove.  People Having Conversations.  Novel!

Love.

Tempo at the Reservoir.

Eliza, yellow lab Pearl, Maria, and I headed to the Reservoir, which is right near me but which I'd never run before (or known existed).  Hurrah, new trails!

And, holy shit, I just agreed to run with Maria who is super-wicked fast.  She once beat Aelasor in a trail race (!!!) and she barely runs (or so she claims) and never runs on trails.  She is a killer climber.  That's her thing.  Sidenote:  Right after I met her last year, she tragically fell 65 feet off a cliff in Camden -- check it out -- her recovery has been pretty amazing...

I was pretty sure Eliza would keep up with her, even though E claims to like running at my rather mellow 10min/mile pace.  Lo, keep up, she did.

And, I guess, so did I, powered by the glory of NSAID on the rocks with a twist of sheer stubbornness, thundering along behind the two speedballs... But only for the first three miles.

At the first twinge, I slowed way down and sent them ahead.  I am trying to be good.  I Need to run...

I liked being pushed (pulled, rather?) (dragged?), I liked the rocky, twisty, varied, reservoir trails, I liked the still-new-spring weather.  I like finally, finally having connected with other mountaineer-runner-climber folks who want to run regularly, locally-to-me.  We ended up with 5 miles.

There remain a few variables that are refusing to cooperate.  I hope that they will respond to some new strategies.  You can imagine that which this entails.  There, I said it.  Do not engage...

It's late and I must go seek the nest, for tomorrow is a Bradbury day.  Looking forward to attempting to tag along with Scout and Squirrel for a bit in the rain.  Hope to see a good flock of my Trail Monster siblings about.

And Sunday is hiking... hmm, but where?

Love.

Return of the Insomniac Running Society...

It had simply been way, way too long since I'd made it up to Scoutland to run at night with the intrepid Scout.  We talked about everything, as always.  We visited peepers and quackers, looked for but didn't see beavers or deer.  We smelled slight skunk at one point...

I made the decision a while ago to further my education (and intellect, inshallah, if there be any hope for it...) in a scholastic setting, once again.  And I keep thinking maybe an imaginary someone who knows me really well will call me and say, hey, you never liked school, you were never very good, why do you insist on always doing the hardest and most unimaginable things?

And I'd look the voice in the eye and say, "You know, you're got a point there.  You just saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.  Thank you.  Let's go get ice cream."  And we'd all just relax and carry on.

This has not happened.

I love how this blog always begins to get a bunch of new hits from lands far and wide at this time of year.  Welcome, fellow hikers and runners of all ilk!  I hope somewhere in the archives is a bit of the information or amusement you seek.  Regardless, glad to share this interest with you, where ever and whoever you are at the moment.  May you find peace with every step.

I told the Wapack 50 miler peepz to please withdraw my entry a little while ago.  More on that later, maybe.  Was thrilled, thrilled to get in 7 miles with Scout last night under a crescent moon surrounded by every star.

Social Animals.

Belatedly condensing the events of this winter was never the intent, alas!   But the streamlining is good practice...

I ran one night at Back Cove, and ended up for the first time with Ian, Zak and Mindy simultaneously for part of it.  I felt like a very tiny snail among this trio of athletic prowess.  I'd just gotten a decent spot on the wait list for the Wapack 50 miles, which would have been my first.  I asked for advice but advice didn't matter as much as just running within a friendly little herd.  Eventually the others (who'd started earlier) finished up and I ran along, ending up with a solid 9.5 miles on a Tuesday night in Portland.

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Arm managed to get me on board with a Baxter State Park excursion in the middle of February.  He even facilitated my borrowing of a pulk from one of the Views From The Top people.  I'd only met Arm once when he came to a show of mine a few years ago, though we'd emailed a little bit off and on and spoke here and there on VFTT.  He's one of those innately Good People, a lover of music, a ridiculously strong hiker with a keen sense of who's where on the mountain, and a quiet soul.  (Note to self: Favorite two vocab/phrases I learned from Arm: "safety checks" (partaking in herb) and "giving birth" (elimination of human manure).)

My packing was frenzied, my ensemble of gear was...well, I like the utilitarian "use it up, wear it out" philosophy.  A lot of "high performance synthetics" are horrible for the environment and also expensive.  Yes, some companies, Patagonia and Atayne for example, are making great strides in using recycled materials, and yes, wool is making a comeback, and remains a top-notch natural fiber for dealing with moisture and cold. Not news but always worth a mention.

Happy miasma of gear chaos.

The way I support these types of companies, at present, is via spreading their gospel.  Meanwhile, I am totally down with using a lot of still-functional, not-new gear.  Things sometimes get a little haphazard this way, but I don't freeze, and I like not freezing very much.  Functionality prevails.  I actually look pretty cute in duct tape...

A group of about 13 would be skiing into the North side of the park via Matagamon Gate.  I was most worried about my red skis.  I've struggled for years to get the waxing right and never quite gotten it.

By some stroke of improbable chance, the wax situation worked out and I happily skiied the 13.2 miles, tugging my burdened, borrowed pulk, all the way to South Branch Pond.  A lot of it felt like "walking with skis on" instead of skiing but I hear that's common with a pulk.

I'd been sure I'd be last in line among this (very) highly experienced group of mountaineers, but I wasn't.  I was in the middle, maybe even toward the front.  (Only because Arm stayed back waiting for Shizzy, surely...) (Or maybe safety checking.  Or giving birth...)

The going was flat with a few rolling bits, nothing tricky, and I enjoyed seeing the occasional familiar landmarks (Horse Mountain, Trout Brook Farm Campsite) that I recalled from my last time here, in summer 2011.

Snow conditions were spectacular all day, skies overcast.  I believe I chatted a bit here and there with Meb, Jen, Donna, and Swampy but I was alone a good bit as well.  It felt great to keep moving, knowing the goal was closer and closer with every step.

Tuckered and hungry, I reached South Branch Pond in about 6 hours.  I dropped everything at the bunkhouse, where Meb's partner had already started a fire (saintly) and walked lightly, immediately, down to the pond to gaze.  The sun began to set.

The first evening would begin the pattern that following evenings would follow.  I'd not known what to expect.  Everyone else knew each other.  Most of them knew a thing or two about me from either this blog or VFTT, but I was still an outsider.

That changed quickly.  I was warmly welcomed and offered everything from quiche to pot brownies to chocolate hearts (it was Valentine's Day) to beer to, best of all, many a conversation.  Everyone hung out with everyone.

Quick Dramatis Personae:  Jen/Nif told me all about her incredible trip to Antisana and Cotopaxi, and about ski mountaineering.  Swampy spoke of motorcycles and backpacking jaunts gone awry, while nipping lovingly at his flask.  Donna talked endlessly about cleaning her "bud" with wetwipes and tried fruitlessly to get into Arm's pants.  Arm strung up three strands of colored christmas lights, put on some music, and sat in the corner, watching, smiling quietly.  Meb, the most animated by far, jumped about and said "oh my god!" about many things, usually making someone laugh.  Her partner Brett was much quieter, as was Christine.  MountainPa was perhaps the quietest -- another sitting/smiling soul with a lot of experience and a relaxed way.  I gave Darlene a shoulder rub while she told me about her Nepal trip and about trying to give away a semi-used pot of chicken ala king in the Pemigewassett Wilderness.  Dr. Dasypodidae showed up early on the second day and Shizzy showed up late that night after a 12+ hour ski in.  Because that's how he rolls.  Shizzy is clearly a legend among this group.  I'll always remember him for spraying whipped cream on a stuffed sheep and then licking it off...

Don't you dare bike in that pond.

The following is a partial transcription of handwritten journal from the trip:

Baxter State Park.  South Branch Pond.

The day is Valentine's Day, February 14, 2013.  This is the first time I have been in BSP in winter, though it's my second at SBP . . . Now tonight, around 9:30pm, I write among a mix of sleepers and hangers-outers.  Arm, Donna, Nif and I are still up. . . the others are sleeping in bunks or out in the lean-tos.

Christmas lights, lanterns, music, hoards of gear and food, alcohol, chocolate, stoves (including Nif's giant Coleman) all adorn my surroundings.  Michael Hedges just cam on Arm's shuffle.  Ambiance is currently soft and lantern-ish.  Voices are softer.  Hearty laughter has given way to quieter conversation.

The morning began with a jolt.  4:49am at a couchsurf (Joel and Christy in Orono - didn't know em - they seemed cool and had a dog named Ember.)   I could have stayed in that bed (down comforter + open window) forever, this I swear . . . Sleep just didn't last long enough.  I (continue to) insist on staying up way too late, over and over.  Reading mostly.  And spending time on the mat.  Yoga.  Abs. Push ups.  Trying to get strong.  But sleep?  Alas.

I needed over an hour to figure out gear details and so I arrived early to sort through all things. . . I had four layers of wax on my Solitude skis.  These skis have been a headache repeatedly (as much as I love them) and I had no expectation that today would be any different.  Snowshoes were ready just in case.

Feeling it out...getting ready for my first pulk-drag.  Pic by Arm.

I packed . . .  and took a brief test ski.  To my surprise, they seemed to grip fairly well.  I added more wax and set out. . . I wore running clothes. . .  one layer of long sleeves. . . a shell at the end of the day . . . which I think was just because . . .  it got harder to move fast enough to stay warm.  Other than sore shoulders, I felt well almost all day.  (Until the last mile.) :)

I was warmest when keeping up with Meb. . . The human punctuations made [the journey] easy and the mind gently coursed along.  I was/am so thankful to be where I am.  My lumbrical muscles hurt from writing. Oy.  Flash cards!
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That concludes the journal from Day 1.  On the next page is a poem.  In my struggle to be a less abysmal writer, I did a project in February where I made myself write a poem every day.  Because even if you still suck at the end, at least you get a ton of practice.  And if you don't practice, you will inevitably suck forever. And there is already too much bad poetry (oh noetry) out there.  So really it's for the good of society...

Writing a poem with a pen on paper is so wildly different than doing it on a computer.  You can see the whole progression of awful word choices, ridiculous subject matter, hackneyed, stilted patterns and gimpy rhythms... Like Murasaki, I am ashamed that my life incites such a waste of paper.

That said, as challenging as it was to come up with anything decent, I dig the pressure and even the discomfort.  Maybe someday something good will come of it...like, maybe, better prose.

This was the second time I've done this specific project.  Maybe again next year...

More Baxter transcription soon...