Greylock Glen
"I had that morning looked down from the Hoosack Mountain, where the road crosses it, on the village of North Adams in the valley three miles away under my feet, showing how uneven the earth may sometimes be, and making it seem an accident that it should ever be level and convenient for the feet of man." - HDT
Greylock, or Hoosack, or Saddleback, or whichever name you wish to ascribe to this hulking jut of bedrock in our northwest extremity, never ceases to amaze and humble me. Today I hiked straightway to the summit via the Thunderbolt trail, a very abrupt route covering 2300 vertical feet in about 2 miles. Up through the rich mesic forest I labored, bounded by cascading mountain rivulets and rocky precipices on either side, "ascending all the while with a sort of awe, and filled with indefinite expectations as to what kind of inhabitants and what kind of nature I should come to at last." A tiny white-petaled spring ephemeral was blossoming by the trailside, less so towards the frigid summit but quite abundant in the valley. The enchanting melody of a hermit thrush echoed through the leafless woods - a sure sign of expansive forest and solitude - and a grouse drummed heartily in some hidden hollow. With patient plodding steps, I finally reached the Appalachian Trail where it traverses the gently sloping saddle, and I was soon greeted with a pleasing waft of balsam fir as I attained the elevation of subalpine climate. Here too I met with broad patches of snow as deep as 12"! A pine grosbeak warbled from the top of one of those dark green aromatic spires as I made my way to the stalwart beacon at the summit, that brave tower ever-buffeted by the wind and misty clouds. The road to the summit is closed for repairs until 2009, and the one person who went up before me had already gone back down, so I had the ceiling of Massachusetts entirely to myself for the short while that I sat and rested, overlooking Adams and its limestone quarry, the Berkshire hills beyond, and far away on the horizon, a milky white fog bank still smothering the Connecticut River Valley just as I had left it this morning. That is the story of my morning ascension - let me not ruin it by suggesting that I ever came back down.
Greylock, or Hoosack, or Saddleback, or whichever name you wish to ascribe to this hulking jut of bedrock in our northwest extremity, never ceases to amaze and humble me. Today I hiked straightway to the summit via the Thunderbolt trail, a very abrupt route covering 2300 vertical feet in about 2 miles. Up through the rich mesic forest I labored, bounded by cascading mountain rivulets and rocky precipices on either side, "ascending all the while with a sort of awe, and filled with indefinite expectations as to what kind of inhabitants and what kind of nature I should come to at last." A tiny white-petaled spring ephemeral was blossoming by the trailside, less so towards the frigid summit but quite abundant in the valley. The enchanting melody of a hermit thrush echoed through the leafless woods - a sure sign of expansive forest and solitude - and a grouse drummed heartily in some hidden hollow. With patient plodding steps, I finally reached the Appalachian Trail where it traverses the gently sloping saddle, and I was soon greeted with a pleasing waft of balsam fir as I attained the elevation of subalpine climate. Here too I met with broad patches of snow as deep as 12"! A pine grosbeak warbled from the top of one of those dark green aromatic spires as I made my way to the stalwart beacon at the summit, that brave tower ever-buffeted by the wind and misty clouds. The road to the summit is closed for repairs until 2009, and the one person who went up before me had already gone back down, so I had the ceiling of Massachusetts entirely to myself for the short while that I sat and rested, overlooking Adams and its limestone quarry, the Berkshire hills beyond, and far away on the horizon, a milky white fog bank still smothering the Connecticut River Valley just as I had left it this morning. That is the story of my morning ascension - let me not ruin it by suggesting that I ever came back down.
posted by Pete at 6:19 PM
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