Excelsior!

440 million years ago, the world was a bit of a different place. The Silurian Period was in full swing. Ice was a rarity on the face of the warm, tropical planet. For the first time in millions of years, the climate was stable. Life was limited almost exclusively to the seas: coral reefs first appeared, and aquatic scorpions up to two meters long swam among the herds of trilobites, hunting the very first animals to ever grow bones. On land, extremely primitive plants were just starting to make their presence known.

A terrific time for the avid fisherman, but less so for the enthusiastic gardener.

The continents of today were totally unrecognisable; they had yet to even join together into the supercontinent Pangaea and then break apart again. Two of these land masses, one destined to become part of Europe and the other to be part of North America, crunched together in an event known as the Caledonian orogeny. This formed a string of mountain ranges stretching along what is now the American East Coast, Scotland, Scandinavia, and Greenland. Thus were the Appalachian Mountains started (as well as the Scottish Highlands).

For a while, the Appalachians were comparable to the current Himalayas, though the latter weren't yet even in existence at the time (the Himalayas appeared around a mere 20 million years ago, the European Alps some 60 million years ago, the Rocky Mountains around 100 million years ago, and the Andes perhaps 140 million years ago). But millions of years of wear and tear has reduced them from the craggy mountains of their glory days to what today amount to a lot of really large rounded hills. And not all of that erosion came from external forces, either.

About 200 million years ago, sometime in the midst of the dinosaurs' Triassic period, there was a particular large volcanic peak in the midst of the mountain range. Gradually the magma built up beneath it, but this peak was so large that it was able to keep it all pent up. . .for a while. Eventually the pressure built up too much for even this mountain to contain, though. And so the mountain went, to use the scientific terminology, kaboom. Where once was one large mountain were now two small mountains, anticipating by many millions of years the later showy eruptions of such peaks as Vesuvius, Krakatoa, and Mount St. Helens. The early dinosaurs were doubtless quite impressed.

Eventually a weird creature that would come to call itself "mankind" (among a multitude of other names) appeared on the scene, decided that it owned the world, drew up a bunch of arbitrary boundaries, measured all the mountains, and assigned names to everything it could name. And so it came to be that these remaining two bits of the former volcano became the two tallest mountain peaks in a certain state in the United States of America.

What a difference a few hundred million years make. Or even 129 days, as that is the amount of time that passed between my first and my second ascents of the second-tallest of these two peaks.

The very tallest peak is actually right next to it (six kilometers from peak to peak, as the pterodactyl flies), but I prefer the shorter one because it's a more interesting climb. The last time I decided to climb the mountain was a few days before Christmas. This time it was on the first of May. The first time it was -50°F, this time it was 50°F. The absence of that little negative sign had a rather significant impact on the experience. There was some similarity, though, in that this time around the weather conditions were not exactly what most tourists would consider the best for climbing the mountain. It was above freezing, yes, but the entire top three-quarters of the mountain was sticking up into a really dense layer of big dark rain clouds, and the wind was near to gale force. But that sort of thing just means that I won't have to worry about lots of other hikers getting in my way and spoiling things for me, right?

This time around, I drove my car to the base of the mountain rather than hiking there. There is a road that skirts along the mountain, and in fact this is the highest road in the state. It is also gravel, wide enough for only one vehicle, and has potholes big enough to lose that one vehicle in. But it is a road in the general sense of the term.

Parking my car, I changed into hiking clothes. I decided to change into my clothes before and after the hike since I figured that the clothing I wore on the slopes would be rather dirty and damp by the time I was finished, and spending an hour in the car afterwards in that condition was something that I preferred to avoid.

Here you can see the gear essential to any proper mountaineering expedition: a bag full of food and hot tea, and a walking staff.

Proper clothing is also a must. There are many schools of thought onto what is the best clothing, though the conditions of the particular place and time need to always be taken into consideration. I had a nice selection of clothing, though, that was well suited to the cool and damp and that wasn't too terribly flashy.

There are times when having half my wardrobe being government issued variations of green, brown, and black are rather useful.

For the first bit of the hike, I cut straight up the slope away from where I parked by the side of the road. There was a deer trail through the underbrush, so I followed that along. If the deer objected, none of them mentioned it to me. There had apparently been a fire along the lower slopes shortly after I had been there before; there was a good bit of blackened vegetation, and much of the brush had been charred and burnt back. Plenty of new or healing plants were poking through the debris, though, so the place is well on its way to recovery.

Apparently the situation was ideal for millipedes, though, as the place was swarming with millions of the little guys, up to about two inches in length.

Movie

After a bit, I hit the Appalachian Trail where it crossed the base of the mountain. So I followed this on for perhaps half a mile.

Appalachian Trail 1
Appalachian Trail 2

This part of the hike was through a fairly open forest of deciduous trees. There wasn't much in the way of underbrush, though there were the occasion big patches of ferns. Many of the trees were beech trees, though I did come across
one definite birch.

And then there was
this odd tree, that was only sort of half there.

It looked almost as though something had come along and taken a really big bite out of it.

When the Appalachian Trail started heading off down the slope and towards the nearby taller peak, I left it and went on upwards some more through the woods. It was easy enough going, as there wasn't much undergrowth other than a bunch of little flexible twiggy things sticking up. By sticking to the rabbit and deer trails even those could be mostly avoided. So I was able to amble along and admire the scenery, such as
this oddly bendy tree.

This other tree, meanwhile, I do not think wants to be hugged.

After passing through the belt of beech trees, I reached the edge of a short stretch of alpine meadow. It was here that the low-lying cloud cover really made its presence known.

Alpine Meadow 1
Alpine Meadow 2
Alpine Meadow III

Here there was again sign of the fire, which had been missing in the woods.

There was also an abundance of ex-snails. Apparently some sort of a gastropodal apocalypse had struck in the recent past.

Obviously, there weren't any sweeping panoramic views to be had then and there. Visibility averaged about 50 meters at most, and at anything nearing that distance all you could see were vague shapes looming up out of the gray. Nice and atmospheric. If I ever were to work for Hammer Films, I know where I would shoot half my movies.

The fog wasn't just fog, of course. It was actual rain clouds, and they were blowing by quite briskly in a strong wind. It almost looked alive, crawling across the landscape. As far as I know, though, it wasn't. I think.

Fog Movie 1
Fog Movie 2
Fog Movie 3
Fog Movie 4

After a short trek across the meadow, I reached the conifer forest. This is what covers the rest of the mountain up to its summit.

Conifer Forest 1
Conifer Forest 2

The cloudiness was less in evidence among the trees, and the ominous grayness of the meadow gave way to a good bit of green. I'm not sure just what all the conifer trees were, though I know that up towards the very top of the peak is a good healthy and very old population of red spruce (a rarity in this region, with the only other example being atop the other peak of the ancient volcano). Even the dreaded woolly aphid missed these isolated stands of spruce whilst others in nearby states were ravaged. With all the evergreens and the dampness, it reminded me a lot of the Pacific Northwest.

Trees 1
Trees 2
Trees 3
Trees 4
Trees 5
Trees 6
Trees 7

At one point I hit an edge of the conifer wood, and found myself overlooking a field of indeterminate dimension full of little low leafless bushes. An
isolated stand of trees in the midst of them had apparently fared less well than their more sociable brethren.

Heading back into the trees, I soon found my way into the red spruce woods.

Spruces 1
Spruces 2
Spruces 3
Spruces 4

It was very damp still, with
big drops of water dripping constantly from the branches.

That didn't seem to bother the squirrels, though. They were scampering around madly in the fallen needles, generally a pair of them with one chasing the other. I have no idea what they were doing, really; it may have been play, it may have been fighting, it may have been that the spirit of Spring was moving them to make lots of little squirrels. It may have been any combination of the above. The squirrels were a type I hadn't seen around here before, being sort of reddish coloured and smaller than the more common gray squirrels. Later on I looked them up in a field guide and found that they were called, originally enough, red squirrels. The book described them as being mainly arboreal, which was a bit odd in that I never saw one of them off the ground. Perhaps the ones on this mountain have a hereditary fear of heights.

The dampness also seemed to make the moss happy. There were little balls of it growing scattered all over the branches of the spruce trees, looking all green and healthy.

Moss 1
Moss 2
Moss 3

There isn't really any view from the top of the mountain, what with it being covered in trees. For that matter, it's somewhat difficult to tell what part of the mountain is the top, as it's sort of lumpy and you can't see it all to compare. But I roamed around up there under the spruces for a while, watching the squirrels and listening to the patter of the water drops. Then I went down the other side of the mountain, to see what I could see.

And what did I see? The other side of the mountain.

Other Side 1
Other Side 2

At one point I did find a bit of a cliff and promontory, though just how soaring a height it was or how grand of a view it encompassed was pretty much impossible to tell due to the prevailing atmospheric conditions. But it was rather plainly a bit higher than I would care to try leaping down from. Perhaps I can find it again in clear weather and see how things look from it.

Promontory 1
Promontory 2

After a while, I left the mountain's forests behind me permanently and found myself on a nice misty moor. When I get that job with Hammer Horror, I'll film the other half of my movies on this moor. I knew that somewhere in that direction was a ridge that connected this mountain peak to another shorter (a mere mile tall) one, and I was hoping to visit that adjoining peak. So off into the mysterious mist I ventured.

Misty Moor 1
Misty Moor 2
Misty Moor 3
Misty Moor 4
Misty Moor 5
Misty Moor 6
Misty Moor 7
Misty Moor 8
Misty Moor 9

Moor Movie (no, it doesn't feature Morgan Freeman)

I have no idea what this marker was marking. Probably where a vampire or werewolf was buried.

I saw no signs of animal life other than a lot of little birds of unknown type, which flitted about and watched me without showing much trepidation regarding my presence.

The Birds 1
The Birds 2

I found a pile of boulders near an area of short trees, upon which I decided to sit and have my lunch.


The view was mainly of rocks, moor, scraggly trees, and cloud. But it was still pleasant enough there.

As any discriminating dragon will doubtless inform you, any proper mountain climbing expedition should be well-stocked with Hot & Spicy Cheez-It crackers (flavoured with genuine Tabasco Sauce) and hot lapsang souchong tea.

While sitting upon the rocks and sipping tea, the clouds suddenly parted slightly. My
path to the lower peak was revealed to me.

The clearing was brief, though. By the time I finished my lunch and clambered down from the rocks, the view was back to being misty and obscured. But I knew the route now.

Clouds Movie

And as I crossed the ridgeline, the clouds parted for a second time. And this time it was more of an impressive parting. For the first time that day, I actually had a view of the surrounding valleys.

Valleys 1
Valleys 2
Valleys 3

Ahead of me was the mass of stone sitting on the peak, which shall here be referred to as Buzzard Boulders.

The view back up the way I had come was clear part way, until the taller peak vanished into the bottom of the cloud layer.

Then the clouds moved in again, and I decided to explore around on the rocks a bit. Due to the wind, the damp, the low visibility, and the loose nature of many of the rocks, I remained on the lower rocks on the side away from the precipice.

On The Rocks 1
On The Rocks 2
On The Rocks 3
On The Rocks 4
On The Rocks 5

After poking around for a bit (and not seeing a single buzzard), I set about retracing my path back across the ridge from Buzzard Boulders to the main mountain.

I have no idea what this marker is in aid of, either.

I noticed that a good bit of the vegetation on the moor looked rather sickly. I'm not sure if this was due to it just coming out of the cold months, or if there was something wrong with it. This bit of moss certainly looked much less happy than did its cousins in the spruce woods.

Upon reaching the end of the ridge connecting to the larger mountain again, the clouds broke once more.

Mountain View 1
Mountain View 2
Mountain View 3
Mountain View 4
Mountain View 5
Mountain View 6
Mountain View 7
Mountain View 8
Mountain View 9
Mountain View 10
Mountain View 11
Mountain View XII
Mountain View 13
Mountain View 14

From there I worked my way back down the mountain. It was mostly just more of the moorland for the majority of the time, though towards the bottom it was tall grassy meadow. The cloud layer had lifted a bit higher, so I was able to break through the bottom of the clouds for the last mile or so and have a reasonably clear view around.

Scenery 1
Scenery 2
Scenery 3
Scenery 4
Scenery 5
Scenery 6
Scenery 7
Scenery 8
Scenery 9
Scenery 10

Here is the other remaining bit of the old blown-up volcano, which is actually a slightly higher peak than the one that I'd climbed.

Other Half 1
Other Half 2

And looking back up
the way I'd just climbed down, I could see the bottom of the clouds I'd just passed through still covering the upper reaches of the mountain.

From there, it was just a very tortuously winding drive along narrow mountain roads until I reached the highway, and then on to home. Though technically one of the worst of the really winding narrow mountain roads is itself a highway, with a posted speed limit of 55 miles per hour. The little detail that it would be totally suicidal to go faster than 25 mph on it doesn't seem to matter in determining highway-ness. I suppose that it is indeed a way that is high.

At the point where the road is the most swervy, with such a rapid succession of extreme switchbacks that even my little car's turning radius can barely manage it, I ended up behind a big black SUV. It was struggling to make it around the turns, and was leaning way over in danger of tipping, and in general having a rough time of it. Even when we got to the relatively straight mountain roads it wasn't handling them well. Eventually we reached a stop sign, and I was able to pull up behind the vehicle and see what sort it was. It turned out to be a Mercury Mountaineer, perhaps one of the most misappropriately named vehicles in automotive history.

And in closing. . .your local correspondent: