The weekend promised the coldest temps of the trip dipping into the teens and twenties. We wanted a campground with electricity to get through the cold snap. After a trip over one of the roughest roads we had experienced and deep in moose country we arrived in the dark at Moose River campground.

Located in a small valley just a few miles from the New Hampshire border. We only had a couple nights here as they were closing for the season. Moose River is a private campground owned and operated by the same couple for the last eighteen years. Located in a small valley the setting was picturesque and the facilities were definitely “Charming”, meaning “old”.  There was room for improvement to the facilities as the shower house was not insulated and small. Along the way I have learned to be grateful for a good shower facility and blessed with a great one. Many tend to be adequate. Moose river falls into this category. Evidently their reason for not making any improvements to the property is due in large part to the tax consequences of adding any additional square footage. So they made the original 1950’s buildings as nice as they could, meaning new paint and shower curtains. After speaking with both owners on separate occasions I realized they were running a total sham as they told me there has not been a moose spotted in the immediate area in over a decade. And you call this place moose river? Well I never! All kidding aside, they were nice enough and the campground was nearly vacant. Plus we were happy to have a budget friendly spot to park it for the cold snap. It got cold snowing over night.

 

 

After a few days here waiting out the coldest weekend of the fall, we knew it was time to go as they had shut the water off due to freezing pipes and they were closing for the season. With temperatures warming up and a ton of schoolwork to do we headed just over the border to Bethlehem, New Hampshire and stayed at Apple Hill campground.

Bethlehem is a small town with the municipal building, police and fire department, library and post office and only coffee house within a half block of each other.

Apple Hill is another private campground with no improvements since the seventies and I use the word improvements loosely. They stay open year round catering to many full time residents and people coming up to ski and snowmobile nearby. The price was right for full hookups and was beautifully set in a dense forest of maple, alder and pine trees. It was difficult to read the vibe as it had many full time and seasonal trailers with very few rules for how people to maintain their campsite. It was not uncommon to see a carport constructed of two by fours and plastic sheeting.  I was reluctant to take pictures of the local residences as it seemed it could be grounds for getting shot. While heading to our campsite to settle in I had to wait for a guy to move his truck and trailer out of the road. The truck was idling with no one around so I got out to see how long they were going to be. As the fellow came out of his trailer he was friendly and offered much information about the safety of the campground, it’s residents and owners. He settled any hesitation I had of this backwoods location with backwoods residents. We always listen to our inner voice and bug out if we get a bad vibe from any location. While I didn’t get a bad vibe from the place it certainly had it’s own back woods personality. Think Deliverance without the theme song, just total quiet.

Operated by the same family for the last twenty seven years, they looked like they put just enough time, money and energy into the place to keep it going, nothing more. The family was nice and left us alone unless we needed anything. We hunkered down to get schoolwork done and grades turned in. The temps were coming out of the twenties as it started warming up over the next few days.

New Hampshire offers beautiful country and I was itching to get out on another significant hike with the family. Due to our school work load, it took three days of focused schoolwork before I was able to sneak away early one morning and go on a solo hike. I received info of a nearby trail from the owner of the local coffee house. At first light I headed to a nearby peak with our dog Charlie for a short, steep and vigorous hike.

Only a mile from the campground, I followed the coffee house owners directions and parked on the road in front of a couple very old wood shacks and walked up the dirt road between them. I tried to be quiet as it was obvious people lived here and it was early. There was a sign giving the okay to hikers to pass through their property only a few feet from their front door. The path turned steep quickly and was a dirt road blanketed with pine needles and fall leaves. As I headed up, I continually made my presence known as this is bear and moose country. A wild life encounter with my full cup of coffee in one hand and and leashed dog in the other would be interesting I’m sure. The road twisted up the mountain every so often intersecting a path of power lines overhead.

 

 

 

I reached the top to find an acre sized summit crowded with a fenced off section of radio antennas, an old three story building that seemed part observatory, part command post and part residence and a camper with pine trees painted on the side in an effort to have the white corrugated siding blend into the forest.

My curiosity of the setting didn’t have to wait long as there was a sign posted describing the property. For over one hundred years the facility had once been a popular tourist destination charging people to come to the top to experience the Eastern view which was expansive and remarkably beautiful with the fall colors. Twenty five years ago the new owner opened the road up to the public for free. As I made my way around the building and directly through the front yard the landscape opened up to a remarkable vista.

You could literally see for miles and miles and miles, oh yeah! A little “The Who” reference there for those of you still awake. The view was expansive and center stage was the White Mountains and Franconia Notch State Park home to the Flume Gorge hike I wanted to share with the family. The morning light was not what I had hoped for picture taking but I drank in the view and breathed in its enormity, thankful for this moment of solitude. Just the dog and I.

While the sign on the structure alluded to a vacant property there were tomato vines growing just inside a bank of south facing windows at ground level indicating I was most likely not alone on top of this mountain. As I made my way back down the path I thought about all the people who had made this very same hike and looked out at the same vista knowing that each one experienced it differently in their own way just as I had. Every now and again I shouted “hey bear” just to make sure I didn’t have any close encounters. I would have preferred to allow Charlie to run off the leash but the coffee house owner recommended him tethered just in case I ran into any property owners.

I arrived back at the campground to Laurel and the kids just waking up. The kids had most of their homework finished but Laurel was under the gun to get grades turned in. Since I have figured out a way to get out of that part of home schooling she sent the kids and I to Franconia Notch State Park located in the White Mountain range, to hike up the Flume Gorge.

Franconia Notch State Park has been a wilderness destination since the late 1800’s. At the visitor’s center, information outlines a history of preservationists and opportunists who have supported and exploited the area. The Flume Gorge is a deep and narrow passage carved through granite and stone. There is a wooden pathway suspended along the sides and during heavy storms the Gorge fills with a torrent of water making the pathway impassable on foot.

Franconia State Park hosts miles of hiking and biking trails in every direction. The Flume Gorge path is a three and a half mile loop weaving along the base of Mount Liberty and Mt Osceola through colorful forests and covered bridges.

 My favorite covered bridge is built on top of a tree that fell across a gorge after it was struck by lightning bridging the gap fifty feet above the stream.

Investigating a narrow passage called Wolves den they prodded me until I shimmied through the narrow passage and out the top.

On the way into the park, a ranger had let us know he had passed a bear earlier that morning. He reminded the kids to look all around, even upwards to take in all that the park had to offer. Despite my interest in seeing a bear I think the kids were too noisy with excitement on the hike for any wild creature to stick around.

Birds and squirrels were the only animals brave enough to get near the kids. There were also two older couples visiting from Louisiana that had no fear of the kids and engaged them while we all looked across the colorful landscape from a viewpoint high on the mountain.

They had made the trip to view the fall colors and like us were in complete awe of the natural beauty. The hike had enough vertical terrain and distance to tire the kids out. So it was back to the campground to give Laurel a break from grading papers.

While settling back in I struck up conversation with a fellow camper named Joe who turned out to be from the area. A former Marine, he stood five foot, eight with the stature of a boxer and a distinctive New England accent. Turned out he had boxed in the Marine Corps. Recently retired he and his girlfriend had rented out their house nearby and were full timing it in their RV. Joe had spent his thirty year career driving logging trucks in the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire. He was a “tough as nails” sort of guy but kind as they come. During his logging career, he had twelve rollover accidents in fully loaded trucks due to icy logging roads. I suggested he is lucky to be alive. He agreed but seemed to shrug it off as just being a job hazard. He said he knew of other drivers that were not so lucky. His history of surviving these potentially deadly accidents just seemed to solidify his tough persona.

Through our conversations Joe offered insight into the local area, the economy and the state of New Hampshire. Each time I was outside I had hoped he would be around as he was easy to talk to and I enjoyed hearing about his life’s journey and knowledge of the area. He has three sons all of which he put through collage and professed it was an utter waste of his money as not one of them is pursuing their major. He felt as though college for his kids was just Dad paying their way to party for four years. Since each kid he described seemed to be productive and financially stable in their life I reassured him that he had made a commendable investment in their future. Coming from the poverty stricken area it was no small feat this man put his three sons through college.

I had not seen Joe for a couple days, turns out he had put together a family reunion down at the cape in Massachusetts. He had arranged for his entire family to be present as he had a plane fly a banner across the beach asking his girlfriend of eight years to marry him. He told me all about his weekend as if I was the buddy who couldn’t make it to the event. Knowing we were leaving in the morning he offered words encouragement reassuring me this journey we were on was a great thing. As we departed, I couldn’t help but reflect on the time I had spent getting to know this character. I will always appreciate the honest connection I had experienced.

As we headed east we were treated to a beautiful road winding through colorful forests and small ski towns.

Destination, Acadia National Park in Maine. We were in touch with our New Zealand friends. They were arriving in the area earlier in the day and were scouting out places to camp.