Cabot, Horn and Bulge
Submitted by Pat
Stats
Mountains: Mts. Cabot (4,170), Horn (3,905) and Bulge (3,950)
Date: June 9, 2007
Time: 8 hours and 30 minutes
Weather: Light rain until noon, then cloudy and humid – temps ranging between low 50s to low 70s
Miles: 12
Elevation Gain: 3,449
Trails: Bunnell Notch Trail — Kilkenney Ridge — Unknown Pond Trail
Holy Shit Factor: Finally, a hike that kept the holy shit factor low
After our experience on Jefferson, with Nancy’s fall and the need to do a hike that will instill confidence and rekindle our passion for this thing we do, we choose Mt. Cabot, the northernmost 4,000 footer, with the option of doing a 12-mile loop that will have us bagging Mts. Bulge and Horn, two of the hundred highest, as well. Not that we have lost our passion — no — we just need a hike that will put it back into a perspective that involves laughter and smiles and high-fives. Our last foray into the Whites was 17 days ago. It feels like ages since we geared up for an all- day adventure, despite squeezing a hike up Monadnock into our busy schedules. The forecast is for rain showers and temps in the upper 60s. Not particularly appealing, but we decide to go for it anyway.
We meet in Keene at 5:00 am. Although the skies are grey, the rain hasn’t started, so I think maybe the forecasters have gotten it wrong and the cloud deck will stay high instead of engulfing the summits. We stop for breakfast at the Tilton Diner and then again at the Mountain Bean for our lunch sandwiches. The trailhead is on land owned by the Berlin Fish Hatchery and is gated from 4:00 pm to 8:00 am. I don’t think we will get back before 4:00 pm if we are going to hike the full loop, so we drive up to the main office and Nancy says she’ll go in and talk to them. A man drives up after she has gone inside and she steps out to talk to him. He says they always check the trailhead parking lot before closing the gate so we will be all set. Nancy gets back in the car and nearly explodes. She says that the smell inside the building nearly made her gag — powerful fish rot stench. I laugh; she flips me the bird.
By 9:04 am, we are geared up, covered in Deet and off on a new adventure. Of course, it immediately starts to rain — thankfully, it’s a light rain, and too humid to put on rain gear. We put on pack covers and decide we will just get wet. Amazing stuff, that Techwick, because although my shirt is soaked, I’m warm. The green surrounding us is lush. All the plants are leafing or flowering, thundering along in early spring growth. Toads hopping, fiddleheads furled, mosquitoes buzzing, birds singing their mating songs — it is absolutely incredible to be here. The trail is moderate with occasional water crossings, some mud, but never breath-sucking steep. Lots of moose tracks and poops. We take pictures and enjoy the walk.
We reach the Mt. Cabot cabin at 12:15 pm. Built for the Fire Warden who stayed up there and manned the fire tower, it’s now used by hikers. We sit at the table in the cabin and eat our sandwiches. It’s nice to actually sit and enjoy a meal without standing in the rain somewhere under a tree. Dejah, her daughter’s 2 year old yellow lab, is with us. We know this is going to be an easy hike and a wet one and Dejah loves water and mud and wet things. By the time we’ve finished eating, the rain has stopped and we throw on our packs and head for the summit. Almost immediately we reach the old fire tower location and I think, silly me, that is the summit. Not. After we high-five in celebration of our 51st summit, we look around and realize the trail is still leading upward, not down as it should if we were actually on the summit. A half mile later, we reach the true signed summit a little after 1:00 pm, high-five again and take another picture. Looking at the map, we realize that heading back down Bunnell Notch Trail or going forward, bagging a couple of the hundred highest (Bulge and Horn) and down the Unknown Pond Trail are close to the same distance, so we decide to go for it.
We start down a steep section on the Kilkenney Ridge which always portends more climbing. We reach the Bulge at around 2:00 pm, as noted by a triangle cut into a tree and a small cairn. No views. Nothing to see anyway. We step out to Bunnell Rock, but see only clouds. We take a picture of the view anyway. Lots of grey. Off we go, down and down and then up and up till we reach the sign for the trail spur to the summit of Horn. We drop our packs and climb the 3/10’s of a mile to the summit. There is even a short bit of scrambling where we actually have to use our hands. My kind of hiking. And back down where we pick up our packs and start the 1.7 miles back to Unknown Pond. That feels like a long stretch and we start to wonder if maybe we missed the trail. But no, we eventually reach the shores of Unknown Pond at 3:20 pm.
What a spectacular place, Unknown Pond, out in the middle of nowhere and so pristine. We take some pictures and Dejah eyes the water and us, hoping we will throw a stick, but we don’t and off we go to find the turn off for the Unknown Pond Trail. The last 3.3 miles are special for me — my knees are tired but neither of us are injured or bruised or bleeding or angry or soaked or covered with insect bites. We’re great! Strong and fit and happy to be doing just what we were doing.
As the miles and the hours roll by, I start thinking about the date. On June 9, 2006 I took my last drink of alcohol. Since that date until today I have not touched a drop. Throughout my adult life, I used alcohol to take the edge off, to dull the pain, to be social, to fit in, to numb myself, to fill a hole in my life. On June 10, 2006, I was hiking with Nancy in the rain on the Wapack Trail bemoaning the fact that I drank at all, wanting to quit and not knowing how. On that hike, at one point, she turned around and looked at me and said, “So why don’t you just stop?” How many times have I heard those words, in my head, from others — hundreds of times. This time I felt it like a fist in my gut — it was time to stop, to end this madness. I am finally doing something that I really love with someone who cares about who I am and I can’t stand the push-me, pull-you that abusing alcohol represents. Yes, it is abuse. Some days yes and some days no, but all in all, I was drinking for reasons that were not showing me how much I cared about myself. All I see is how much I hate myself.
So I stop. Just stop. And my life changed — since then I have climbed 49 4,000-foot mountains and have become a better friend and a stronger supervisor and a kinder lover. It isn’t always easy, but I am finished with hating myself that way. I want to know the Pat who doesn’t drink at all, not socially, not for the wrong reasons, not ever. Now I sleep better. I have more energy and time to do things I love to do — woodworking, gardening, reading, hiking, softball, reading, mowing, tending to the animals, reading, cycling, running, and more. It is not easy to write these words. Even though they are flowing, it is not an easy birth. I am fighting against what I fear, fear of what you will think about me. I don’t want to care about that — you can judge me if you want and I don’t have to let it touch me. I am proud of what I have done, how far I have come, that I did not become a statistic, that I live a full life. And I did it with my own strength and with the help of my friend Nancy and the support of friends and family and by climbing 49 mountains and knowing how it really feels to reach the top.
I am grinning from ear to ear when we arrive at the parking lot at 5:36 pm. I feel great! We are both so excited about our next adventure – a rim-to-rim hike in the Grand Canyon. We’re leaving on June 14 so it will be a week or two before you hear from us again.
Onward and upward!