Hannah and Dan Discover Upper Goose Pond near Lee, MA (near the Mass. Turnpike)

Taking a break midway in our drive from our home in York, Maine to my brother’s place in New York, we set out to hike the Appalachian Trail near Upper Goose Pond off the Mass Pike, not far from Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra.  A mere 4 miles from the Mass Pike the parking area off Route 20 has ample parking for day hikers.  Previously we hiked north from this point to Becket Mountain (see over60hiking blog for Thursday, March 10, 2011), but today we head south to Upper Goose Pond.

Puncheons (wooden planks through boggy and soggy stretches of the trail) greet us on this waterlogged early spring day.  Dressed in a long sleeve tee shirt, a heavy "Maine" sweatshirt (I’m always looking for words on my shirts to spark a conversation with fellow hikers), pants, and hiking boots, I follow Hannah as we cross the hikers bridge over the Mass Pike.  Once across we climb steadily as bright white blazes guide us through a forest of deciduous trees still bare from winter’s grip.

Soon we descend to Upper Goose Pond on a meandering trail that is level and conducive to talking.  Mucky by the pond, the muddy path is well marked and not taxing.   We roll and stroll through woods knowing that three hours is a good length of time for hiking; over 60, we hate the feeling of going too far and too long and struggling with each step back to the car.  Today, we are indeed disciplined and turn around at the 90-minute mark with 3.2 miles back to Route 20. 

On the way back we take a blue blaze side trail for five tenths of a mile to the Upper Goose Pond cabin where a previous thru-hiker, Patch, (March 10, 2011 blog) told us that there, thru-hikers are served free pancakes.  Our guidebook mentions that the cabin with bunks for thirty hikers is open from mid-June to mid-September and some weekends before and after.   Lunching on our Subway chicken salad subs, we quickly chill down on this forty-degree spring day sitting at the cabin picnic table.  Leaving the campsite, we run into our first hiker who, coincidentally, has spent nights in this very cabin.  Asking him how he sleeps with 30 others, he says, one be exhausted from your hike and two, have earplugs.  As for me, I think I’ll pass.  (Now let’s just take a little side trip of the mind with Dan for a moment.  Sleeping with others in a shelter ranks right up there with sleeping overnight on hard ground as reasons one and two why you won’t catch me doing any hiking that requires me to spend a night in the woods.)

We dally as we listen to him as he tells his story.  Unfortunately, we never find an entry point to the conversation, either by will or by invitation.   After listening for too long, I am reminded how everyone has a story to tell.  He certainly does.  As my friend Vin says, everyone is an embryonic storyteller.   Sometimes telling our stories gets in the way of others sharing theirs.  Without true dialogue, there is no connection or synergy or future, and damn little of anything really.  It’s just a one-sided carnival sideshow.  We leave him relieved and unsatisfied.  We escape back over the mountain, lesser for the experience. 

Upper Goose Pond Hike – Enjoyable with moderate terrain elevation.   As always when hiking, know thyself, thy limits, and the conditions.  Be prepared.

Dan and Hannah Explore the Redwoods in Muir Woods, just north of San Francisco, CA

          Your favorite country mice, Dan and Hannah, head north through San Francisco’s Chinatown on a typically temperate 60-degree morning in March.  Just twenty minutes north, the Muir Woods National Monument awaits.  Escaping the city by way of the Golden Gate Bridge, we take to the four lane California 101, then exit onto the winding two lane California 1 with its tight hairpin turns and no shoulders.  Though the website (http://www.nps.gov/muwo) says parking is limited, we easily find a spot at Muir Woods, less than two miles from the Pacific Ocean.

          After just a few hundred steps to the Visitor Center, we take the ranger-recommended hike up Redwood Creek along the Bootjack Trail.  Immediately, we are in the midst of the tallest living things on the face of the earth, 250-foot plus redwood trees.  Redwoods!  Oh, they are majestic, certainly magnificent, indeed breathtaking, regal is no overstatement.  You might be thinking, enough already with the inflated adjectives.  Well, my impatient readers, please think again.  As my college roommate Big Steve would say, these trees are stunning.  Feeling like Jack looking for the top of the Beanstalk, we crane our necks skyward unable to see the tops of the redwood canopy.

          Through this forest of clustered redwood families is a blacktop or a wooden boardwalk trail, maybe 12-15 feet wide.  Among tourists in sandals and street shoes, we warm up for our hike in this lush rainforest where thick, hairy moss hangs from every branch.  Ferns abound on either side of the boardwalk with the snow fed rushing waters of the Redwood Creek, just an arm’s length away.  With the wet winters and fog off the ocean throughout the rest of the year, this climate is perfect for redwoods.

          After a mile of humanity, we step straight ahead on the aforementioned Bootjack Trail, which is muddy and sloppy from last night’s drenching rain.  Hiking boots are a must with the trail rocky and crossed by roots as it ascends into the Pacific coastal mountains.  The roaring creek makes it difficult to talk; for the next hour we see no one on the trail to break up the hike or possibly make a brief connection with a kindred spirit.  As an aside, my life is one part seeking of kindred spirits.  Perspiring, I soon remove my sweatshirt; my pant legs are mud-spattered from the trail.  Arriving an hour or so later at the Van Wyck Meadow, we lunch while sitting on a rock in the sunshine.  Shoes and socks off, we celebrate with homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples, and the satisfaction of a day well spent.  You got to be thinking, these kids do it right!

          Turning left we hit the TCC (Tamalpais Conservation Club) trail for the home stretch which, rather than climbing the canyon wall, cuts into the canyon hundreds of feet above the thundering creek with little elevation change.  We soon catch a hiking rhythm just below the ridgeline and the conversation flows.  Using hands and feet, we do grope through a 12-foot section of the trail washed out by last night’s downpour.   

Though the park information lists this loop hike as plus or minus four hours, we do it under three hours with 15 minutes for lunch.  Fact is, we primarily hike for exercise.  For Hannah and Dan, a good time on vacation is having our legs motoring and our hearts pumping.   Did you know Hannah’s undergraduate degree from the College of Wooster in Ohio was in physical education?  Dan, himself, has a Masters in physical education from the Harvard of the West, Arizona State University.  (Stand tall, fellow Sun Devils!)  We cruise pretty well and smell fewer roses.  It’s just in our DNA, but it’s one heckuva good workout. 

Find a place for Muir Woods on your to-do list and you’ll not be sorry.  All of this is but 30 minutes away from the third worst traffic jams in America (Los Angeles, you are #1 while Honolulu is #2)

(http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2011-03-08/50-worst-commutes-americas-highways-to-hell/2/).  Sorry Washington, DC.  You are only #4, but I’m pulling for you next year.

As always when hiking, know thyself, thy limits, and the conditions.  Be prepared.

Bootjack Trail loop rating – So very California cool.

Oh, there’s one final joy – cell phones don’t work in Muir Woods.  We tried.

Dan and Hannah Take to the San Francisco Waterfront

If you know anything about Dan and Hannah, you know they avoid cities.  Living in York, Maine, 65 miles north of Boston, they never go to those cobbled streets.   Like never!   I’m not bragging; it’s just a fact.  Given a chance to spend a vacation anywhere, they choose the Mountain West, with a soft spot for Bozeman, MT and Flagstaff, AZ.  Twenty-nine years ago, they moved from the Valley of the Sun in Arizona with its three million residents to small potatoes seacoast New England.  People end up where they are supposed to; at least that’s what I’m selling today.  These two scream “country mice” when you look at them.  So a trip to the big city of San Francisco takes them far from their little hole in the wall. 

          Chauffeured and sheltered by good friend Chris, we head to the Farmer’s Market at the Ferry Building (http://www.ferrybuildingmarketplace.com/), just down from Giants Stadium along the waterfront on El Embarcadero.  Within the Ferry Building the most surprising shop is advertising Tasty Salty Pig Parts.  Toto, we are not in Maine anymore.   Expecting to see California stereotypes (i.e., beautiful, tan, edgy), we see joggers, sweethearts walking hand in hand, and families with energetic kids out for a Saturday morning.   Beautiful they are and not all that different from Mainers.

          On the sidewalk a saxophone player collects tips.  Not to disappoint those who jump to stereotypes, there is the smell of marijuana in the air. We are given a slice of blood red orange without asking.  An accordion player hopes we are generous with our spare change.  The energy from the street on this March morning makes me smile.   The sunny, 60 degrees temperate climate that attracted hippies in the Sixties explains why so many Americans are Californians.

          Though I am not a city guy, the warm temps, good friend, and Hannah melt my resistance to the big bad metropolis.  Then, a tad overweight man comes bicycling by in just a jockstrap loudly proclaiming his participation in the World Naked Bike Race.  As far as I can see, he is the only entrant.  Ah, San Francisco stereotypes come to the rescue.    Later, we see a homeless man with a sign, Why lie?  I need a beer.  Please help.”

          Taking the Blue & Gold Ferry Bay Monarch (http://www.blueandgoldfleet.com/) with three decks, two with open-air benches, we pay $20 each for a round trip to Sausalito.  Bundled up with three layers of clothing to ward off the bay breeze off the 50-degree water, we pass Alcatraz (http://www.alcatraztickets.com/) and the Golden Gate Bridge on this 30-minute trip.  Sitting in the sun, I feel a freedom that comes from being loved and on vacation.   As we deferry, we look for a restaurant for a 2P lunch.  We hit the jackpot at the Winships in Sausalito (http://www.winships.com/).   With a pub atmosphere, it serves us delectable minestrone soup with baskets of sliced sourdough bread. 

          On the return trip we wait for what seems like 80 rented bikes to board the ferry.  They weren’t there when we came.  What gives?    Talking to my seatmate on the flight home later, I learned that many rent bikes (e.g., Blazing Saddles – http://www.blazingsaddles.com/) in San Francisco, ride over the Golden Gate Bridge and then coast down the steep hills to the Sausalito waterfront.  Many then take the ferry back rather than pedal, push, and cajole their bikes up the steep hill. 

Pleased, sated, and thankful, Mickey and Minnie will one day return to San Francisco to bike over the Golden Gate Bridge. 

         And back.