The official beginning of the Midstate Trail — if you can get there…
It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.
— Confucius
I needed to take a couple of days off to rest, after that last slog in the New Hampshire mountains. Then the temperature rose to the mid-80s and Waldo and I had to delay some more. But I’m committed to continue, although with some trepidation, until I’m shown that I can’t. Yeah, I know, there’s a strong element of denial there, but I’m just not ready to throw my life into the old-age ring. My body will not control me.
It does, however, carry the annoying power of veto…
It should be a good day for a mountain hike. The temps are in the mid-50s, the sky is partly cloudy and the ground is dryish. After a 1-hour drive, we arrive at the parking lot of the Mount Watatic trail head. It is completely full, no space to park. There must be 15 to 20 cars there. We cross the highway and park on the side of a dirt road running westward. There are around 10 other cars parked there as well. This trail must be a popular place to go on the weekend (it’s Sunday). I grab the pack that has Waldo’s water (around 10 pounds worth), my end of the leash and we’re off.
There is an option to the start of the trail. One can go straight up Mount Watatic and then down onto the ridge that runs to where we left off last time, but it’s kind of steep. Alternatively, there is a trail that runs around the base of the mountain, then up to the ridge. If we go up the mountain outward bound, then, when we’re tired, we could take the kinder, gentler route back to the car. But we’d probably be burnt out at the beginning of the trek and be worn out for the rest of the hike. Or we could go the easier way, then return going downhill on the steep part of the mountain. I opt for the latter.
The grade isn’t that steep and we make good time, going the 1-mile from the trailhead to the ridge. Once there, the ground is pretty flat. I’m feeling really good and thinking that this just might be an easy walk. We walk through forests of eastern hemlock, the predominant evergreen up here. There are also some spruce, but not many. The deciduous trees at the lower altitudes have already started to sprout their leaves, but not so up here (elevation around 1,200 to 1,800 feet), so it’s hard to get a feeling about just how many there are, without counting trunks. It seems like most of the trees, by far, are hemlocks.
We pass a few people going the opposite direction and some pass us going the way we’re going. No other dogs, though. Most of the people parked down below must be climbing the mountain and not hiking the ridge. Waldo is having a great time, sniffing all the new smells and enjoying the absence of bicycles (they aren’t allowed here). There are, of course, a lot of sticks around, but he doesn’t pick up any. He’s way too intent on following where the trail leads, which he, for the most part, follows unerringly. He pulls at the far end of the leash, going up and down the gentle rises we have to navigate, eager to get on with it. That’s pretty convenient – when we’re going uphill. Not so much on the downhill.
We work our way along the ridge close by Binney Hill Pond. It is large enough to be a lake, but it is shallow, allowing sunlight to penetrate to growing green things on its bottom. I’m thankful we’re not doing this later on in the season. I’d bet there are swarms of mosquitoes out here then. Just past the pond, the ground rises sharply. We’re at Pratt Mountain.
The going is steep, with lots of tree roots and rocks trying to trip me up. My pace drops dramatically, with frequent pauses to catch my breath and briefly rest my aging muscles. Waldo has gotten really good at sensing when to wait for me. I stop, then he stops and turns to look at me. If I take too long, he’ll roll in the dead leaves, or come back to where I am and lie down. As soon as I stand up, he’s off and at the end of the leash again, eager to get on with it.
At the peak, I’m tired, but not totally exhausted. We continue on along the now fairly flat ridge to the turn-around place, a rock where I sat and rested the last time we were here. I’m not absolutely sure it’s the right rock, so we go a little bit past it, then turn around. We’ve come 5 miles so far. I’m not stumbling-tired yet, so I mentally prepare myself for the trek over Mount Watatic on our return. It seems doable.
Then we come to the part where we have to go down the steep side of Pratt Mountain. That proves to be godawful. I’m just not used to using the muscles that are required for that. Going up isn’t as bad, because you can rest a bit from one step to another, even when you don’t stop. Going down, though, your muscles are taut the entire time, providing you with the tension that’s needed to keep you from falling forward. And my muscles are already tired from going up the thing. By the time we get to the bottom, my legs and low back are killing me.
Back on the more-or-less flat ridge, the going is easy, but now my muscles are cramping and very sore. I’m constantly on the lookout for a boulder or a fallen log I can sit on and rest. I can only go a hundred yards, or so, at a time – and we still have a good 4 miles to go to the car. Waldo continues to be good about my frequent pauses. He’s gotten used to walking with an old man. I grit my teeth and carry on. All thoughts of finishing by going over Mount Watatic are out the window. We’ll save that for another day.
After an eternity, we get back to the gentle slope just above the parking lot. Going up was easy, but coming down is excruciating. Finally, 9.7 miles, 7 hours and 40 minutes and 1,280 feet of elevation gain after we started, we’re back at the car. Sitting on the car seat never felt so damned good. Waldo is curled up on the passenger seat, his border-collie energy appeased — for the moment.
This experience might cause a more rational person to reconsider a commitment to continuing on with the Midstate Trail. But for me, it has showed me that, as painful as it might be, by God, I’ve proven I can do it.
I just gotta rest up for a few days…
Binney Pond