View of Giant's Washbowl from The Nubble
2 July 2011
Jeff got us up and out of our condos early so that we could get to the High Peaks while there was still some parking left. Nine of us piled into two cars and headed north.
He was leading us to Giant Mountain, one of 46 High Peaks. We weren't going up it, though. "We'll be on the shoulder," he explained.
I was nervous, the way I used to be when I first joined the Free Wheelers with no bike clothes and seventeen year old tank of a touring bike. I was the only one in our group who didn't have fancy zip-off-into-shorts hiking pants or a hiking shirt. My new boots had been worn exactly twice before. In my backpack (an old one held together by safety pins), I had a hastily thrown-together lunch, two small bottles of water, my little camera, my wallet, and a spare pack of tissues that had been living there for years anyway.
I knew this was serious stuff when Jeff signed us in at the base of the trail. "If we don't sign out at the end of the day, the ranger will come looking for us," he said.
We started off on a wide, soft trail that sloped gently upwards. We took a detour to the base of the Roaring Brook falls.
That's Jim, who climbed the rock face above the water.
After that we headed to Giant's Washbowl, climbing a little. The rocks on the trail looked the ones in the Sourlands.
At a small stream crossing we nearly stepped on a gathering of butterflies sunning themselves on a rock by the water.
I have no sense of distance on a hike. One tenth of a mile seemed to take forever.
We saw the water before we got to the Washbowl. Beaver dams had flooded the trail. We picked our way around the edge of the pond. I was towards the back, snapping pictures.
Of the two dams we saw, this was the larger one.
This was my best picture of the day. Click on it and you'll see what I mean.
Cheryl got a picture of me taking pictures of the downed trees.
We crossed a log bridge over the pond. The water underneath was the color of iced coffee (didn't think I'd bring that in, didja?). Falling in would have been unpleasant, which gave a lot of people pause. While they were gingerly stepping across, I was on the other side taking pictures of Giant's Washbowl.
Jim said this tree was struck by lightning:
We started climbing again. The beaver dam reminded Marilyn of something she'd seen in a client's waiting room. "It was a picture," she said, "of a woman at a sink, washing a beaver." She let us imagine that for a moment. "The caption said, 'Men ask for the strangest things.' I was at an asphalt plant."
"A what?"
"Asphalt."
"I thought she said asshole."
"So did I."
"I didn't know there was such a thing as an asshole plant."
"Yeah, there is," I said. "It's called grad school."
"Ooooo!"
Jim said, "I didn't have to go to grad school to become an asshole."
We had a steep climb to the Nubble, and we thought we were there. We sat down to have lunch. Jeff wasn't so sure we were at the top. We couldn't see the mountains that the trail guide said we'd see. But we were hungry, and by the time Jeff figured out that we hadn't reached the Nubble, most of us were digging into our food.
There were three rock faces across from us. On two of them we spotted rock climbers -- a white speck and an orange speck -- slowly moving up what looked to us like vertical cliffs. Jim, who had a climbing guide with him for some reason, looked them up and assured us that the rocks were at a relatively easy angle. Still, as he explained how the climbers were using ropes, I wondered what he meant by "easy."
That's when Cheryl noticed that the soles of her hiking boots were splitting.
The real Nubble was only a few minutes away.
We walked onto the outcrop with ease, but Don had to find a spot to climb and make it look tough just for fun.
Karen, Jim, me, Cheryl, Denise, and Don at the Nubble. Marilyn took the picture.
It was all downhill from here. The descent was steeper. Every so often I resorted to bouncing myself off saplings.
We weren't too far from the top when Cheryl found that her left boot had turned into a flip-flop.
Fear not. In the depths of his 25-pound backpack, Jeff carried a roll of duct tape, a required supply for hike leaders. He, Don, and I performed the surgery.
There's no cell phone reception in the state park, but my iPhone still can be used as an iPod with a speaker. Balancing myself on the way down with one hand and scrolling through my playlists with the other, I found it.
Jeff knew all the words. He danced down the mountain, waving his hiking poles over his head as he sang,
Watch me ... watch me!
I got it!
Watch me ... I got it
HEY!
I got somethin' that makes me wanna shout
I got somethin' that tells me what it's all about
Huh, I got soul and I'm super bad!
I've got soul and I'm super bad
Huh
Now I gotta move that tells me what to do
Sometimes it's easy, ha
Now I gotta move that tells me what to do
Sometimes I feel so nice, I wanna try myself with you
ha, ha
I got soul and I'm super bad
ha
I love, I love to do my thing,
ha.. and I, and I don't need, no one else
Sometimes I feels so nice, good god
I jump back, I wanna kiss myself
Denise said, "I can't hike while I'm laughing!"
I've got soul, huh, and I'm super
Hey
I said I'm super bad
Bridge, come on
Slap it down
and round and round
up and down
all around
right-on people
huh, let it all hang out
if you don't brothas and sistas
then you won't know
what it's all about
Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme
heeeeey
(scream)
uh, come on!
I got the something that makes me wanna shout
I got that thing that tells me what it's all about
I got soul, ha, and I'm super bad!
I got the move that tells me what to do
Sometimes I feel so nice, I said I wanna try myself with you
ha
I, I, I, I,
I got soul, and I'm super bad
Bridge, hit me
Slap it down
and all around
right-on people
huh, let it all hang out
if you don't brothas and sistas
then you won't know
what it's all about
Gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme,
(scream)
Huh, come on
Gimme,
(shout out band)
Said I'm super bad
A super bad brother
Good god
super bad
The song was just ending when we came upon two women heading up the trail. I looked at them sheepishly. "Sorry," I said.
"No, no. It's funny!"
What my point-and-shoot can't do for macro, Photoshop can. More on that later.
We crossed back over the stream. The butterflies were still there.
Most of us were feeling beat, but a sign pointing us towards the top of the falls beckoned. "C'mon," I said. "I can hear it from here." Jeff and a few others decided to wait for us at the head of the trail. It only took us a minute to reach the spot.
At the edge, Jim stuck his head in the water. I stood back and waited for them to clear away so I could get a picture without people. They lingered, so I amused myself with other vantage points.
Now it was Don's turn.
I gave up waiting and decided instead to do what they had done. The water was cold and refreshing.
Don and Jim found their way to the other end, where the water was deeper. They took off their shirts and went in. The rest of us waited on the rocks by the trail, splashing ourselves to cool off.
On our way down we met the park ranger. He told us that the beavers had done so much work this spring that the footbridge had been under water.
Jeff met us at the trail head. "There were twenty-three people signed in after us," he said. As we pulled out of the lot, we saw cars parked along the highway in both directions.
We stopped at a diner to get drinks and to wash off. Cheryl and I munched on graham-flavored goldfish crackers all the way home.
*****
"You guys are the tech house," Cheryl said.
Terry was at the table with his notebook computer and his iPad. Gordon, Terry, Jack, and I were staring into the 'net on our iPhones. Cheryl was using my laptop to check her email.
"Okay, then." I told her. "You're the ADD house."
"Why?"
"There are always six conversations going on at once over there." For those of you who can picture Bob, Norene, Cheryl, Denise, Jeff, and Cathy all in one place, I needn't say more.
*****
We all -- well, almost all -- walked down the hill to Basil and Wick's. The restaurant that had been shuttered for so long had just opened again, now with a chef and his new crew that had arrived days before.
Jack noticed the specific mention of Le Bus bread, which had me and Norene scratching our heads. How on earth did anyone up here know about the tiny bakery that started in Philadelphia's University City out of a converted school bus? And who would buy bread that was at least a six-hour drive from here? Had they gone national? The horror! The chef was so new, the hostess explained, that she didn't know anything about it. "He's from Philadelphia," she offered.
*****
I sat on the floor, my back propped up against the sofa, going over the day's pictures. Gordon sat behind me and did his best to teach me what Photoshop could do for blurry or overexposed pictures. I'll leave you to figure out which ones I messed with.
I played for hours, long after everyone else but Terry had gone to bed.
Terry was on the other sofa, his iPad on his chest, fast asleep.
I played for hours, long after everyone else but Terry had gone to bed.
Terry was on the other sofa, his iPad on his chest, fast asleep.
View from somewhere near the Nubble, by Cheryl
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