MT. Moosilauke
A funny thing happened on the trip to Moosilauke. As in, 4th of July traffic sucked- so I took an alternate route off 89. The drama that unfolded in Canaan was unspeakably jaw-dropping bizarre. As I filled my tank with expensive back country gas, a Buick Le Sabre pulled up next to me . A woman hopped out for quickie-mart groceries. The passenger in the Buick then positioned himself in the drivers seat, put the car in reverse, erstwhile the woman screamed for him to stop: “Bobby, don’t do this!”
The boy payed no attention , instead he proceeds to knock the woman down as she attempted to stop the car. He peeled out of the lot at about 80 and headed south down Rt 4. She is sent airborne, along with her purse. The contents of which fall like confetti onto the parking lot. She lay bleeding next to me and I react at once while the locals stare with jaws agape.
“Do we need to report a stolen car?” I ask.
“No, that was my son! He’s not in his right mind!”
As if that was not glaringly obvious.“He’s not thinking straight!”What straight thinker would run down their own mother?
“I think he’s on something..."Might I suggest crystal meth?The police come and again the locals are inept in their lackluster response to providing assistance.
A man asked me, “Do you think she wants a Diet Coke?”
Finally the hillbilly police come and ask questions. The woman is given some ice for her injuries. She is lucky to be alive.
Finally I am on my way to hike a mountain! YES!
Only, it’s too late to bust a move up the big Moosilauke and I am forced to deal with “
PLAN B”. The thunderclouds hovered overhead threatening a downpour. Sure enough it starts to rain, but the rain shower quickly comes to an end. I say , “Well, here’s a fine looking trail out of Benton State Forest, Hurricane Mountain Trail. One crap little mountain is better than none at all.”
A regrettable conclusion this was.
If you like wading knee deep in mud and having your ass bit by 10,000 mosquitoes, Hurricane Mountain is the one for you. Otherwise, avoid this aptly named natural disaster of a peak which seems to be waiting for FEMA to come along and clean up the mess.
Now head to toe in grime, I head for the campground off Rt 118. As I head east on 118, I am just moments behind a car accident involving an SUV which careened off the road and landed nose first in a cluster of pines. There is a party across the street and the party goers converge onto the road with worried looks and half empty bottles of Corona. All traffic has pulled over to assess the damage and a sober guest calls 911.
“There’s a boy trapped in the car!” Screams a Marlboro smoking party guest.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Lets get him out!"Two teens stumble into the road, bewildered, yet unharmed.
“Yes!" say the teens, “Joe is still in the truck!”
Finally, the 3rd passenger,Joe, emerges from the wreckage, ironically sporting a “Life is Good” T-shirt.
I want to ask him if Life is still good, or if today is an exception .
“I’m all right, I’m All right!!” He yells, discouraging any rescue attempt that may have been dreamed up by the Corona drinkers. Finally, the local rescue vehicles arrive and the road is blocked off; I stay and watch as gravity takes effect and the SUV tumbles from the trees.
Dave Pettelle, owner of Camp 118 in Warren has heard it all before, as i speak of my encounters with danger.
"You need to kick back and relax!" For a mere $10 , I camp at the luxurious facilities known as “118". Here is a campground situated on 15 acres in Warren with river side sites and free firewood. There is often live music and a “Comfort Station”, for when bladders and bowels need comforting. Then there’s the Leaky Tiqui Bar, where Dave and Bridgette host parties and social events. This is an ATV-Trail camp with loads of trails. There are a lot of ATV-ers making a racket. I set up the tent and join the hosts at the bar where Bridgette serves me fresh trout. There will be a fireworks display of great magnitude, $800 worth! When the fireworks go off at 9:00 , Ruby freaks out and runs away. For 45 minutes I search for her unsuccessfully .
By now, the other Campers are well on their way to becoming heavily intoxicated and I report to Bridgette that the dog is missing. A full ABP was issued by the office crew and I can hear the campers calling for the dog,
“RUBY!!” There is much searching, but there is no dog . I am worried. A biker babe, who appears quite inebriated, says to me,
“ Ya know, I saw a dog on the roof of that house…maybe that’s your dog.”
Good Lord, woman, you are high as a kite - there’s no dog on the roof.
I dismiss her at once, only to be told again that, yes indeed; a dog was spotted on the rooftop of the main office. As I follow up on this tip I can see from the distance a scared dog pacing the rooftop as firecrackers snap in the background: it's Ruby on the roof. I retrieve her by climbing the ladder to the roof and coaxing her down. As we return to the tent, the Leaky Tiqui bar has spawned a new star. Perhaps it’s Neil Diamond’s nephew, Squeal Diamond, on guitar wailing, “I am I said” much to the approval of every drinking idiot. I talked with a few people then went on my way. Brian, from Warren stood out as an example – he and his wife, and new baby lost their home in a fire. He was working double time to make it all work.
July 2nd was foggy and overcast but I set out to finish the job of peaking Moosilauke. I met 2 women on the Gorge Brook Trail smoking cigarettes. I never did see them again. The only other hikers I encountered were a couple of guys from Natick. We had a nice talk and I waited for them at the summit. They were far behind. I waited at the Ravine Lodge for them. They did not show. Still, me and the dog got in a good day of hiking but the views from the summit were elusive. Some day I will hike Moosilauke and the weather will be outstanding. Until then, I will associate Moosilauke as being a gray , wet mountain.
