The Concord Monitor, words

A Peak Experience

“You’re pathetic,” were the last words John Heden, 45, screamed before he was blown like a rag doll, slipping and sliding in the icy cold across the Mount Washington Observatory deck.

Heden was taunting a colleague, forced by gusts of 85 mph to do the crawl of shame back to the door of the building, when he found himself suddenly in the same predicament.

He was prepared for freezing temperatures – stuffed inside layers of long underwear, synthetic pants, shirts, an insulated jacket, a wind parka, snow pants, mountaineering boots, balaclava and hat. What he wasn’t ready for was the wind.

As his ski goggles blew off his head, he clutched his crumpled glasses and braced himself for the slow-motion move against the rip tide of howling air.

“I was really questioning if I could make it back at that point,” Heden said. “There was a feeling of helplessness that I wasn’t expecting. I’m being blown and I saw my son struggling. . . . I wasn’t afraid, but I was concerned. I had no control.”

Heden had ventured to the summit of Mount Washington to celebrate his son Ryan’s 14th birthday with the observatory’s EduTrip, a $459 overnight excursion to the “home of the world’s worst weather.” The program was a two-day exploration of the mountain summit: a snow tractor ride up the Auto Road, a stay at the non-profit weather observatory, classes, home-cooked meals and frequent trips outside to experience one of the harshest winter environments on the planet.

The 85-mph gusts and freezing temperatures, while tame for Mount Washington, were just what the participants hoped for. In 1934, the highest surface wind speed on Earth was recorded here – 231 mph – far exceeding even the speed of a Category 5 hurricane, which tops out at 156 mph. This February, the observatory staff spent 22 days in hurricane-force winds.

The tough conditions belie the fact that at 6,288 feet, Mount Washington’s peak is really not that tall. In fact, it’s not even the highest summit in the east. By contrast, Pikes Peak, a middle-sized mountain in Colorado, the symbol of the gold rush and the most-visited mountain in North America, stands at 14,110 feet. But because of a convergence of geographical features, including the topography, orientation and rise of the Presidential range, the melding of North American storm tracks and low-pressure ocean systems, winds and weather are pumped straight to the summit.

Since 1849, more than 130 people have died on or around the mountain.

The long road up

It was warm at the base of Mount Washington as six EduTrippers and instructors boarded the snow tractor – so warm the snow melted into a blinding fog. The layers of clothing and preparation for disaster seemed out of place at the bottom, with the valley bathed in the early rays of spring. It soon became clear, however, that the weather at the top was a fickle and unpredictable foe.

Driver Pete Roberts, 70, has taken hundreds of trips up Mount Washington, but the day’s journey, while safe, he said, was one of the worst. Visibility along the Auto Road was minimal. The mountains were obscured in a thick haze. Entire buildings, trees and rocks disappeared beneath the fog. If someone stepped off a mountain path, he might never find his way back. Balmy temperatures had also turned the snow to slush in hidden rivers of ooze, difficult to see and avoid. Nearly two miles from the top, the vehicle sank in. Roberts revved the motor and narrowly avoided being stuck.

“I didn’t think we were going to make it for a minute,” he said.

There’s not much wiggle room on the Auto Road, especially in the winter when drifting snow thins the road and makes driving and plowing difficult. Even this year, with less-than-average snowfall, the snow tractor’s rims can hang over the road’s ledge; at times it was a straight drop into the valley below. It’s so dramatic, in fact, that parts of the road have even acquired their own folk names: “Oh, my God, look out” and “Mother-in-law’s Outlook.” The 7.6-mile trip to the top took about two hours.

Organizers require participants be in excellent physical condition and suited up for adventure. In case of emergency, they must be ready and equipped to hike to safety. This group was a resilient sort – runners, winter mountaineers, hang gliders, skiers, sailors and lovers of the great outdoors.

Above and below

It’s quiet inside the state park visitors center at the top of the mountain. In the summer, the building bustles, crammed with tourists. But in the winter, only a few hundred hearty souls make it to the top. Vacant tables, framed by windows, look out over the summit with an air of chilly otherworldliness – a haunting picture streaked in white ice and shifting fog. It is like being alone on the moon.

As the temperatures dropped from the high 30s to the single digits, fog turned to rime ice and the windows clouded over – blocking the views outside. Participants headed down the long metal stairs under the observatory to the staff living quarters and were greeted by Nin, the resident cat. After a cup of warm coffee, they were briefed on the rules, most importantly on the use of water.

Because the leech fields freeze in the winter, staffers are allowed only one shower a week, and everyone must observe the bathroom motto, “If it’s brown, flush it down. If it’s yellow, let it mellow.”

With that in mind and a tour of the facility under their belts, it was time for class. Appalachian Mountain Club cartographer Larry Garland blew up a globe while author-historian John Mudge covered the conference room table with maps. Every EduTrip has an educational theme and this one was Mapping Mount Washington. Other trip topics include ecology, mountain climatology, global climate change, geology and alpine photography.

The observatory has been a popular place this year, with a host of media outlets clamoring to have a look. The CBS Early Show, Time magazine, National Geographic, the Outdoor Life Network and the Weather Channel have all been up to visit.

The young, four-person staff seems at ease with the attention. After all, they are already minor weather celebrities for their morning forecasts and, recently, their widely seen YouTube video, in which boiling water, thrown into the air, is turned to snow by -34.8 degree temperatures – to the sound of rock music. Their official sponsor, L.L. Bean, supplies them with outdoor gear and has featured the summit on national advertising campaigns.

Observatory staff members have one of the more unusual jobs on the planet. The crew spends 12-hour shifts, seven days a week, watching and recording the weather yearround. On good days, they have their own winter park with breathtaking vistas and can snowboard or hike outside. Every other week they rotate and go down the mountain for a more normal life.

Explorers Club

During the evening wine and cheese break, on comfy couches in their bunker-style living quarters below the observatory, staffers admitted to being a bit obsessed with the weather. They talked about whether or not the National Weather Service was overshooting warnings of an impending snowstorm.

Meteorologist Ryan Knapp, 26, whose observatory profile says he used to give weather reports to his school ski club, said that a storm is just like a big fish that you are dying to reel in. There was even “shift envy” when one set of observers got “all the good weather,” complained Alan Metcalf, a summit intern, on the observatory website. Unlike New Hampshire’s snow birds who head south for the winter, “good weather” for the staff means getting slammed with the extremes. They enjoy it.

Rene Pollrerich, 25, a visiting German researcher, decided to use an infrared camera to test how quickly his body would lose heat in -30 degree temperatures – so he stood outside in his shorts. It was an experiment that didn’t last long.

Current researchers form the latest in a long line of scientists who have tracked Mount Washington’s extremes. In 1871, the U.S. Signal Corps began observations here in a building lashed to the ground by chains, the first weather station of its kind in the world.

In 1932, the Mount Washington Observatory was founded. The constant observations have culminated in an invaluable record of climatic change and a litmus test for global warming.

On this night though, before EduTrip participants headed to their bunk rooms, stories moved away from scientific calculations to tales of the human toll of the mountain. As visiting German researcher Hyun-Ung Lee, 26, moaned the groaning sound of the wind, his colleague Pollrerich repeated an oft-told tale of observatory ghosts.

“The voices came from right where you are going to be sleeping,” he began.

Voices, it turns out, of two climbers who made it to the top but never made it back down.

The morning

Overnight the winds died and the clouds cleared off the surrounding mountains. As the sun rose blue and orange and pink, Heden again found himself on the observatory deck, where he struggled on his knees to the door the day before.

For the first time, without flying snow, obscuring clouds, deadening winds or blinding fog, he looked back.

Heden laughed; for all of his struggles up the floor, he realized he was only footsteps away from the observatory door.

The flighty weather gods, in their beauty and unpredictability, had chosen to bestow a calm, clear day for
participants who decided to walk part of the way down the now-frozen Auto Road. The storm expected for that evening held off, to the disappointment of some, seduced by the mountain and the hope of getting snowed in.

“It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience,” Heden said later.

At the bottom, Mount Washington looming overhead, layers were stripped off, the adventure completed a bit wistfully.

“This is New England, where winter never seems to die,” Metcalf wrote, “nor do we want it to.”

The Mount Washington Observatory offers EduTrips year-round. For more information, visit their website at

The Concord Monitor, words

A Healing Mission

A01_060406.qxdNinety-nine-year-old Maria Vasquez rose with the sound of chickens, put her hair in a bun, tied a white, lacy apron over her dress, walked to the center of town and waited.

She had heard that the American army doctors were coming. And so she waited.

The temperature rose to 115 degrees. Buses dropped off patients dressed in party clothes and flip-flops. They joined the line.

And still, Vasquez waited.

By late morning, it was finally her turn to talk to the medical team. She was weighed, then questioned.

“What types of problems are you having?” a translator asked in Spanish.

“I can’t see very well,” she said. “And sometimes I have aches.”

Her problems were noted, and she moved through the line to see a doctor.

Vasquez was among more than 5,000 patients the New Hampshire National Guard Medical Command treated during a medical readiness exercise in rural El Salvador in late April. Stories like hers were central to the team’s experience.

“You know what’s amazing?” asked 1st Lt. Jim Piro, 46, a nurse from New Boston. “For people to spend hours waiting in the hot sun for Tylenol and Motrin and things that we can just go to the store and buy at home. People are coming in with bare feet and mud and waiting. It chokes me up.”

At a time when New Hampshire soldiers are serving and dying in controversial missions in Iraq, Afghanistan and beyond, the medical command was on a peaceful goodwill trip. Its goals were simple and straightforward: to help people in a poor, rural environment, to train for future missions, to work together as a group and to strengthen ties with El Salvador.

Along with the satisfaction of helping thousands of people with medical needs great and small came the frustration of knowing that some of their fixes were temporary – and that some patients who needed help most desperately were beyond their reach.

The work was hard, and the hours were long.

“You have to have a very selfless attitude – the kind of person that feels that doing their job is more important than enjoying a high quality of life while they’re out here,” said Sgt. Jen LaClaire of Concord.

‘Level one’ care

The medical team met Vasquez and her neighbors in Chilanga, a brightly painted town with cobbled streets surrounded by ancient volcanic hills. Their two-week mission had already taken them through Tablon, Quatajiagua and Chapeltique. This was the fourth and final destination for the doctors, dentists, nurses and other medical personnel.

Their mission: “level one” care – medical and dental screenings and treatment of basic concerns.

“We can’t do any major surgeries or anything serious, but we can identify issues, provide some prescription drugs and refer treatment to hospitals as needed,” said Capt. Mike Moranti, 32, of Manchester.

The 30-member team pulled 446 teeth, fitted 241 pairs of eyeglasses, treated thousands of aches and pains, and saw, among other things, a goiter the size of a cantaloupe, an infected toenail and injuries from an attempted suicide.

“We can kind of be like a Doctors Without Borders,” said Moranti, the medical command operations officer. “Most medical professionals want to help people, and that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

The group’s primary function is to support the National Guard at home.

Members provide medical screenings for soldiers and track those who are deploying or returning from active duty. They can be deployed themselves but are generally sent overseas individually, attached to other units.

“This gave us an opportunity to train as a group . . . doing a mission together, getting used to wearing the uniform, sleeping in tents and stuff like that – in a more relaxed atmosphere than going straight to Iraq and not knowing anybody and not even knowing how to put your Kevlar on,” Moranti said.

Many members have done tours in Iraq, Afghanistan and Bosnia. Some, like LaClaire, 34, a former Russian linguist for the Navy, have never been on a field mission.

“This is a completely different universe,” said LaClaire, a patient administration sergeant. “I was not aware of just how much I was taking for granted. Until you live the experience and see people face to face, you don’t know how much luxury you have had in your life.”

Base camp basics

For nearly two weeks, the team slept co-ed style in canvas tents on an old runway in the Morazon province, in the northwest corner of El Salvador.

They rose before dawn to hearty egg-and-meat breakfasts shipped in boxes from the United States, served cafeteria-style in a trailer and eaten in the open air. For lunch, they picked up Meals Ready to Eat or Salvadoran pupusas, fried cornmeal tortillas filled with beans, cheese or pork. They drank plenty of water.

Surrounded by razor wire and filled with heavy equipment, the base camp was shipped from the United States in pieces for the Army’s New Horizons exercise.

There were Humvees, trailers for a mess hall, showers, generators, tents and a gargantuan washer and dryer system, all to support humanitarian objectives, which included building schools, wells and clinics and running medical readiness exercises.

The Army’s work was focused near former rebel territory, pieces of which were once held by a former guerrilla group, the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front. The area is also home to the city of El Mozote, where, in 1981, Salvadoran soldiers killed an estimated 900 civilians in an anti-guerrilla campaign, one of the worst massacres in Latin American history.

The country’s civil war has passed, and today, El Salvador, roughly the size of Massachusetts, is home to more than 6 million people.

Agriculture is an important industry, but recently there has been a decline in the export of coffee and a rise in clothing manufacturing. According to embassy personnel, about 17 percent of the country’s gross domestic product comes from money that people working in the United States send back to their families.

Rashes, dizziness, foot pain

The Chilanga medical mission was set up in an elementary school, an open-air cement block building brightly painted in blue and white, the national colors.

Piro sat at an intake table; next to him was a Salvadoran Army interpreter translating medical complaints. Piro held a cheat sheet of ailments listed in Spanish – rash, dizziness, foot pain, low appetite, fever, fungus, sweating, stomach ache, vomiting, chicken pox. By Day 8, he knew most of them by heart.

First Lt. Lezli Clark, a nurse from Rochester, worked next to Piro, shuttling people through the line. Last year, Clark won the Army Nurse Corps excellence award for her work with soldiers returning from war.

She and Piro have both been part of a team of New Hampshire soldiers in charge of case management for troops returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. They tracked injuries and managed care for nearly 400 people. When soldiers came home, Clark gave them her cell phone number.

“I’m a nurse,” she said. “That’s what nurses do.”

Inside the medical area, Capt. Jen Moranti, 30, a nurse from Manchester, gave out hundreds of bags of pills, took temperatures and blood pressure and saw people with aches and pains, lice and dehydration.

“You want to do so much for them,” Moranti said, “but you can really only do so much without follow-up care.”

Lt. Col. Robin DeLeon, 41, a doctor from Boise, Idaho, called a group over to listen to a young girl’s heart. Instead of the normal glub, glub, her heart whooshed – a sign of trouble.

DeLeon told the family she needed to go to the hospital. Her condition would require a more serious operation than the mission could handle.

Situations like that were not easy for the team. The short duration of the trip, the extent of the need and the level of care they were able to provide could be frustrating.

“Not being able to do the things that I can do back home is hard,” said Lt. Col. Susan Caprio, 59, a nurse practitioner from Goffstown.

Chronic disease was the most difficult problem she wrestled with.

“I’m worried about the women (having a stroke),” she said. “We tell them to go to the clinic, but if they could do that, they wouldn’t have come here.”

While the team treated and bandaged and shared smiles with people again and again, it was the people they couldn’t help that some remembered most.

“It’s heartbreaking,” said LaClaire.

The team had been up since around 5:30 a.m. At the end of the day, as members waited to get on the buses in the stifling heat, the soldiers’ sleeves were rolled down to show solidarity with the troops in Iraq.

“I’m tired. It’s hot. It would be nice to sleep in a bed again,” said Caprio.

‘Dentists can be fun’

Inside the dental room, a four member team prepared for an extraction – with a little levity.

“Dentists can be fun,” said Col. Ralph Ergas, 46, a pediatric specialist from Manchester.

Maj. Patrick Racz, 38, a dentist from Bristol, added, “Yesterday, we were joking about how we don’t have repeat customers, and then we had a woman come back for more.”

A line outside the door attested to the popularity of their services. Roborto Porg, 55, asked Ergas to remove eight teeth so he could be fitted for partials. After anesthetic, Porg sat stoically, calloused hands folded on his lap, as his teeth were pulled one by one.

“Let’s say he goes to the clinic,” said Ergas. “He pays his bus fare and he misses work, which costs him money.” Local dentists charge $5 a tooth to be pulled, Ergas said; having eight pulled could cost nearly a month’s salary.

“That’s a big deal to him,” said Ergas.

As the last tooth for the day was removed, Porg stood, shook Ergas’s hand and said, “Gracias.”

“They have so much disease here that they have a higher pain tolerance and don’t take as much anesthetic,” Ergas said.

Ergas learned how to say, “no crying” in Spanish – “no llores” – and when he said it to children, the crying stopped.

“They don’t need as much coddling,” Ergas said. “The Salvadoran children are a little more independent (than their American counterparts). They are tougher, and they listen to their parents.”

They also had more tooth decay.

The dental team saw case after case of baby bottle tooth decay, a condition that destroys a child’s upper front teeth because of prolonged contact with sugary liquids.

A fine line

Members of a military medical team walk a fine line between soldiering and healing. In fact, the Geneva Convention gives them their own category in the rules of war. Medical and religious personnel are considered noncombatants even though they wear uniforms and can carry small arms.

That doesn’t mean they haven’t tasted danger.

While riding the buses home to the Salvadoran base camp one night, fireworks exploded in the roadway ahead of the team.

“My heart stopped,” said Staff Sgt. Roy Lowes, 44, a medic from Wolfeboro who spent time in Afghanistan advising a medical company.

Loud noises surprise him and take him back to his tour.

“In Afghanistan, I had to straddle both positions,” he said. “I’m a pretty compassionate person, but at the same time, you have to watch your ass.”

What the Americans learned in El Salvador about teamwork and sacrifice will quickly be put to the test halfway around the world. The youngest member of the group, Pfc. Ashley Philibert, 19, of Weare will leave for Iraq this summer. Philibert, who joined the Army at 17, describes her time in El Salvador as “awesome.” She knows Iraq, where she will be working in security rather than dentistry, will be tougher.

“Normally I’m very cautious, but lately, I’ve been like this is my only opportunity to do this,” she said.

“When else am I going to have a chance to come help people?”

Philibert volunteered for the tour in Iraq. She’s excited, but when she watches the news, she’s scared too.

“I have no idea what to expect.”

Making life better

Inside the eye exam room, Rebecca Calles, 25, the first female pilot in the Salvadoran Air Force, worked alongside Senior Airman Lindsay Lassonde, 21, of Rochester, helping fit residents with eyeglasses.

Petronilo Lopez, 81, had such poor vision he couldn’t read any letters on the chart in front of him.

“Can you see this?” Calles asked in Spanish.

“No,” he answered.

“How about this?” she asked again.


Lassonde sighed. Hundreds of people needed glasses. There was only one Lassonde.

The team told about a young boy who came in. He couldn’t read. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t read because he couldn’t see.

Groups had donated glasses for the trip, but there were not enough exact prescriptions to go around.

Lassonde did the best she could. When she was through, amid hugs and handshakes, her Salvadoran patients smiled and said, “Gracias, gracias, gracias.”

“I can’t get them to see 100 percent, and I can’t fix all their problems, but I can help them,” she said. “And to see their gratitude makes it all worthwhile.”

LaClaire said later: “It’s the most personally satisfying thing that I’ve ever done – because you know what you are doing is making a difference.“It’s not a symbol. You are really making their quality of life better.”

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On the Canoe Trail

A01_081907.qxdSteve Cratty, 37, was still wearing his hospital ID bracelet as he and the other members of “The Pennsylvania 4” sloughed their way against the current on the slimy, rocky Upper Ammonoosuc River in New Hampshire.

The team of four through-paddlers, on a quest to conquer the 740-mile Northern Forest Canoe Trail, had been on the water for several weeks when Cratty fell and broke two ribs on the rocks.  It was a small setback in a string of misfortune that included wrapping their canoe around a boulder, a week of nonstop rain and food poisoning.

“In it to win it” had become the team motto by the time they reached this midpoint through New Hampshire. And still, what they really wanted to talk about was the people they met on the journey and the places they’d seen.

“Being out here is probably changing my thoughts on life,” said Brad Kohler, 30, of Pittsburgh, Pa. “Living in the city makes me doubt people. I used to think that there were only a few good people out there, but now I think there are millions.”

The crew can’t remember what day of the week it is, but they all remember the couple in a fishing boat who led them during a lightning storm to their camp where they made them a fire and offered them hot food.

“They didn’t know us from nothing. We could have been serial killers,” Kohler said.

Long Distance Trail

Not everyone who travels the Northern Forest Canoe Trail needs to experience such extremes. The path, which traces Native American trade routes through New York, Vermont, Quebec, New Hampshire and Maine, has many shorter, quieter sections.

Finished in the spring of 2006, the trail consists of a string of interconnected rivers and lakes linked by portages (which require the canoe to be carried) from one waterway to the next. Sometimes called the Appalachian Trail for canoeists, it passes through some of the most renowned waters of the East, including Lake Champlain and the Allagash Wilderness Waterway.

The trail is divided into 13 mapped sections, which include campsites, trail signs, local information and access points. To complete the entire journey, paddlers must possess a variety of skills. They must be able to travel upstream by poling, a technique that uses a long, usually wooden, setting pole to push the boat forward against the current. They also must have the endurance to portage 55 miles, carrying the canoe up and around obstructions. Paddlers must descend rapids up to a class IV, which is defined by the Safety Code of American Whitewater as “Advanced. Intense, powerful but predictable rapids requiring precise boat handling in turbulent water.” They also must fight through large bodies of water where wind and waves batter their small crafts.

Unlike hiking however, the trail is not always considered backcountry as it passes both developed and natural areas. In some areas paddlers can canoe from inn to inn.

Typically, people who want to paddle the length of the trail begin in the west and move toward Maine. In that direction, the New Hampshire section becomes tricky. The four bodies of water that make up the more than 72 miles of the trail that cross the state – the Connecticut, the Androscoggin, the Upper Ammonoosuc and Lake Umbagog – flow in different directions. (For shorter trips, section paddling in the direction of the current can make things more enjoyable.) But taken piece by piece, each of the New Hampshire waterways has its own character and adventure to offer.

Connecticut River Section

The largest river in New England, the Connecticut curves its way along an ancient tract. Wide and meandering, sandy beaches grace its oxbow loops.  Above its banks rise fertile agricultural valleys. In the distance, mountains and hills emerge.

It’s the kind of river that defines a “float trip,” as its gentle, clear current makes for a leisurely day. On Sunday, it’s also the kind of river that brings out locals and their coolers.

Five boats, full of good-natured North Stratford natives, wind their way down the river on a lazy afternoon. They argue and joke about who can catch more fish. Challenges are issued. Taunts are hurled. Everybody knows everybody. They speculate that the largest graduating class in town was 25 people. Then, at a nondescript bend in the river, they raise their drinks to salute a friend who died there. Their arrival at the abandoned railroad trestle is ritualistic. Several people disembark onto the island of driftwood and stone to light debris on fire.

Past another bend, David Curtis, 42, a teacher from Burlington, Vt., fights his way upstream like Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier. His face is stubbly, but there is a smile below his Green Mountain Club hat.

Curtis decided to paddle the New Hampshire and Vermont sections of the trail a week into his summer vacation.  “I haven’t been in a canoe since high school,” Curtis says. “My only preparation for canoeing was a book, something like Canoeing in the Wild by some master canoeist who has me doing the c-stroke.” (The stroke traces the letter “c” underwater and keeps the solo canoeist moving forward in a straight line. It’s easier said than done.)

He admits to a penchant for checking things off a list.  (He’s also working to finish the Long Trail, a 270-mile hiking trail that runs the length of Vermont.) In his boat is a large, old gardening cart for portages, an external frame pack, dry bags, food (kale, noodles, carrots) and a fishing rod. He’s already done one 3.8-mile portage from the Androscoggin to the Upper Ammonoosuc by himself. The road is hilly, windy and narrow. He’s feeling cranky and over-packed.

Some of the portages are rough. Steep banks greet paddlers trying to make their way around dams or carrying their canoes to the next waterway.  Supplies must be unloaded, moved up and down, then reloaded while the canoeist scrambles through thorny bushes with wet shoes, mosquitoes feasting on fleshy legs.

Curtis is doing the trip all by himself and says he feels more solitude in the water than on land.

“When you are hiking, even if you are alone on the trail, you are running into somebody,” Curtis says. “But here you are all alone.”

Umbagog Lake and Androscoggin River Section

Umbagog Lake is a destination in itself. Wide, shallow and protected, it’s more than 10 miles long. The haunting call of the loon echoes from its shores.

Then as the waterway approaches Errol, the peace is interrupted. Here, the Androscoggin River begins with menace. Trees, staked like spears along the banks, point at the sky and a set of Class III rapids await. Once a superhighway for the logging industry, the river now serves a variety of recreational purposes.

Coming through the crashing water, Kay Henry, the founding president of the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, executes a perfect eddy turn near the boat ramp with Todd Papianou, owner of Northern Waters Outfitters in Errol. In whitewater boating, an eddy turn is used to extricate the boat from the current and halt its downstream motion. It’s an advanced maneuver. They make it look easy.

Henry and her husband, Rob Center, former chief executives of Mad River Canoe, formed the nonprofit NFCT in 2000 to develop and manage the trail. It was first envisioned in the late 1970s by a trio of men interested in tracing Native American routes through New England. More than 30 years later, the trail officially opened.

“From a historical perspective, rivers were really what joined the community,” Henry says. Today, she hopes that communities will embrace the idea of a water trail as both a recreational/cultural outlet and an economic driver.

The vision is that the trail becomes part of the fabric of the northern forest communities, encouraging conservation and keeping the water pristine.

The New Hampshire river section is a cultural byway to different chapters of the region’s past. It runs next to both Brunswick Springs, an Abenaki area used for its purported healing powers, and the town of Stark, where a former World War II German prisoner of war camp was located.

Papianou’s business and other local country stores and campgrounds may also benefit from an increase in river tourism. Some of them don’t even know it yet.

Pam Feldhouse at the Cedar Pond Campground near Milan didn’t realize that her campground was central on NFCT map No. 7 and smack dab in the middle of a tough 3.8-mile portage on Route 110A between the Androscoggin and Upper Ammonoosuc River. It was advertising, she says, that she didn’t even have to pay for.

As the whitewater of Errol fades off into the Pontook Reservoir, remnants of logging days sit neatly below the water. In the 1930s, river drivers worked from large boats called “bateau,” directing logs down the chutes of this river. Stone islands, underwater timbers, and coils of metal rope sunken to the bottom are the only remnants. Soon though, the river is churned up once again by the power of the Pontook Dam. Class II and III rapids follow rocky and fast.

Upper Ammonoosuc River Section

The slender and shallow Upper Ammonoosuc River snakes its way through the heart of northern New Hampshire. It’s the smallest and least traveled of the rivers. Low water levels in late summer cause many of the rapids to become a minefield of boulders difficult to navigate – but also create an assurance of isolation.

The winding stream abounds with wildlife. A young moose bathes in a deep eddy, shaking flies off his growing antlers. He lumbers to the shore, knees bending backward awkwardly. It is quiet.

Northern Forest Canoe Trail campsites along all the rivers are new and relatively unused. They offer designated places to stop and camp for the night. In the morning, it rains fog, leaving a layer of condensation on tent roofs. Campers sleep under thick river mist, while canoes sit idle.

It’s possible to kayak the trail, but canoes, with their extra storage capacity, provide a more versatile way of completing it.

“A canoe is a vehicle to go exploring with,” Henry says.

In a way, the trail is an ode to the transportation of the past. Long before roads were built through the thick North Woods, Native Americans navigated through a series of well-known river systems in traditional canoes.

Although the exploration of uncharted territory might be complete, the essence of the journey remains. There is a beginning and an ending, and in between, teamwork is paramount. The power of the paddler in the bow must be matched by the skill and guidance of the paddler in the stern. It’s the partnership involved in canoeing, Henry says, that makes it so satisfying.

For “The Pennsylvania 4,” teamwork seems to move them along the trail. In their blog from Saturday, July 28, they write “WE ALL GOT TO SHOWER TODAY!!! Today was a good day for all of us, but I’m sure that Sara (Maits) enjoyed today the most. She no longer has to hang around three smelly guys all day. Today was our third shower of the trip. After our showers, we got to line up our canoes and walk through the water most of the day.”

A few days later, they write, “We were very excited about finally reaching Maine. We took advantage of the emotional high and paddled 20 miles.”

In the latest report, dated Wednesday, Aug. 15, the group writes, “The last couple of days have been rough. I can now see why so many paddlers average less than 15 miles per day. Lake Champlain seems like it happened so long ago. The good news is that we have less than 100 miles to go. Once we finish, we will start planning our trip for next summer.”

For Steve Cratty and Sara Maits, two of “The Pennsylvania 4,” the teamwork that keeps them on schedule is vital. Their goal: make it to Fort Kent, Maine, by Aug. 25. If they arrive in one piece, there will be a bridal shower, their own, to attend.

The Concord Monitor, words

Up and Away

On the mornings after the rains came, 7-year old Carroll Werren would race outside his Maine farmhouse and scan the horizon. Standing in the field, he could hear the roar of a biplane coming. It was 1963.

Flying low over the trees, the crop duster would swoop overhead, spraying the nearby orchards. Werren could see the pilot in the bumblebee-colored, brilliant cockpit. He would wave his little arms and the pilot would wave the wings of the plane in

Forty-four years later, Werren recalls the memories and his dreams to fly – as he himself waves to people below. From the perch on his powered parachute, Werren says that whenever he goes up, it feels like the first time. Floating, weightless. This is what a bird must feel like. Houses look like miniatures from a train set, the Merrimack River casts a deep blue, and the dome of the State House reflects the setting sun.

A retired Concord firefighter, Werren flies over the station, circling overhead and waving to former co-workers below. Everyone who sees him in the sky waves back. There is a great joy in the sharing of that connection. Just think of something you have always wanted to do, Werren says, and then you get to do it. That’s what this feels like.

If you want something in life, he says, you reach out. And it is there.