Turning Round Right: Pemigewasset Mountain Meandering

Looking north from Mt. Osceola

Mountains don't meander. They are fixed things in human eyes. Indeed people regularly orient themselves based on the position of mountain peaks, visible from many miles away. Mountains however do change. Those changes mostly happen over epochs, much longer spans than people have the attention to track. Occasional mountains will change quickly, such as when the Old Man in the Mountain fell some 15 years ago. I was here then, when the Great Stone Face, as Nathaniel Hawthorne called it, slid down Cannon Cliff. That was a sad day for everyone who loves the mountains of New Hampshire. It was a day we knew was coming eventually, but that few were truly prepared to see. Yet for most of the 100 million years the White Mountains have existed, change has come slowly.

The Old Man in the Mountain 2003

Rivers do meander. The Pemigewasset River is no different in that respect. Indeed steep terrain at the head of this river causes it to meander regularly through the valley. In the past few years heavy storms have forced the river to meander more often than not. While I do enjoy the occasional paddle on the Pemi this page is not about rivers, it is about traveling in the mountains. More than half the White Mountain 4000 foot peaks feed this river. Truly the head waters of the Pemigewasset River are the heart of the White Mountains. 

People do not meander either, but they do wander, and that is something like meandering. I moved to New Hampshire from Kansas to be in the mountains: to climb, to hike, to ski, and work where I loved to play. For my first few years living here that is exactly what occupied my energy. But 16 years ago a desk job turned my attention away from climbing and toward racing bikes. So I spent little time chasing peaks and more time chasing podiums since. Almost all my spare time and energy have been devoted to cycling since I returned to racing.

my son after backpacking over Mt. Mousilauke

But life travels in a long loop sometimes. My son is now 11 years old. While he likes biking, he is not enthralled with racing as I was at his age. He is captivated by mountains. On any given weekend he'd rather bag a 4000 footer than go to a bike race. He spent this spring researching the Appalachian Trail for his life goal of through hiking it someday. In the winter he'd rather back country ski than ride lifts. I'd be a fool not to indulge his passion, especially considering I was once a backpacking guide. Just discussing routes, gear choices, & technique with him has been delightful. Combine his interest with my lack of training this summer and cycling has moved to the back burner.

In a way returning to the mountains feels like coming home, although I never truly left. My house is still a quarter mile from the White Mountain National Forest border. My local friends have always been comprised of hikers, climbers, & skiers who came here for the same reasons I did. Simply my attention has been returned to what drew me here in the first place, being in the hills.

Lastly, there is a Mount Pemigewasset. It is a modest hill at the southern tip of Franconia Notch. It is an easy hike, only 2550 feet high, and easily overlooked by those seeking the higher peaks nearby. But it has a wonderful view of the Kinsman's and the Franconia Ridge. On a clear day one can see Mt. Tecumseh and Mousilauke too. It is also the first peak I hiked in New Hampshire, a few days after I arrived. While I may have wandered around New England in the 20+ years since, my heart has stayed in the mountains, dreaming of those peaks I first spied from Mt. Pemigewasset. 

on Mt. Mousilauke, my happy place

So expect that I will now devote my time and my writing to being here, in the high places of the White Mountains, and that makes me happy. I hope to share that happiness with you.