Steps

What a sweet trail up Mt Chocorua yesterday. This stand-apart peak in the White Mountains of New Hampshire is a favorite of mine (said also to be one of the most photographed and painted, especially as reflected in Chocorua Lake) but this time I found myself admiring the design and handiwork of those who laid out the Piper Trail I used, who constructed it and regularly maintain it.

My awareness of the trail crew began when I began to notice that, at each incline, large flat boulders had been placed so that I was climbing something like stairs, each next step within easy lift and reach. These were often big rocks, so finding them, fetching them, fitting them must have each of them been a serious project of engineering. How, I wondered, did they do it? and imagined teams of volunteers with winches, levers, chains and other tools manhandling these heavy blocks into just the right position, wedging them tight (no ankle-twisting tippers or wobblers), preparing the approaches with tread of loose granite crumble (looks like dessert topping). I could see men and women, young and old, of this generation and previous,sweating in the heat, shivering in cold gusts, having to continually brace themselves on steep slopes, harassed by insects...

The trail zig-zags up the contours of the hill, so more or less level packed sections switchback at these steep but simple stair ascents--a relaxing alternation that invited me to admire the patterning of light through the leaves of the forest that dropped away beside the path as well as enticing glimpses the summit above and ahead.

In addition to building retaining walls, clearing away fallen trees, bridging streams, the crews had placed 6 by 6s regularly perpendicular to the path to divert runoff. In the higher reaches however, instead of wood, they've planted flat slabs side by side like sets of lower front teeth across the trails prevent trail erosion. There are hundreds of them. I can picture those teams of burly (or if I were part, boney) volunteers with these ten foot (I guess) black-colored baulks on their shoulders climbing up and up to where there were to be placed. This is work in the ancient and honorable tradition of great feats like the Qhapaq Nan network built by the Incas from Colombia to Argentina.

Higher up, narrow trail estuaries onto great slabs of granite ledge, broken to cetacean-shaped rocks as pillowy as granite in the wild ever gets. Cairns, and yellow painted slabs show how to find natural ways for flanking the walls athwart the direct line to the summit. As the top looms above like a citadel, the path goes around the back way and up an easy but steep scramble to where lots of other hikers are lounging, looking at the on and on prospect of peaks to the north (Mt Washington!) and west, and flat country to the south and east.

You weren't on the Piper yesterday, trail crew, but I felt your presence, mindful of me and my experience. The hike was long, nine and a half miles out and back, up and down about 3300 feet, about 5 hours of steady exertion, and you smoothed that into a steady, rhythmic experience that, yes, made me sweat, but without the stop and think aggravations of irregular and off-beat stepping.

This is an old trail, laid out many years ago, but it's clearly been groomed regularly over the years by you people, not so different from me, who love this mountain (and all mountains) and want to make it easier for the rest of us to do so too. You served me the mountain and I did take and eat. On a bright, temperate day like yesterday, it was glorious repast.

New trails are being constructed everywhere around the country. Old trails are being cared for and upgraded. The ancient practice of travel (for even long distances) in wild places on foot is being made more and more possible. Small bands of visionaries with tough legs and strong backs are making it happen. It's time; I'd like to be one of you. But in the meantime, many thanks.