-Before we even got to the trail we stopped at the ranger station to make sure we were not about to get in over our heads. I was standing at the desk with a yuppie couple, who were driving me crazy. The woman walked in after me, yet somehow got the Ranger's attention first, then proceeded to monopolize her time while simultaneously talking down to the ranger she was trying to get information from. When the ranger asked where they were meeting their friends, the woman told her the name of the campground, only to have the ranger informed them that couldn't be correct, as that campground was closed for the year. The yuppie girl fired back saying, "No, you're wrong, our friends are staying there." As this girl was in the middle of telling the ranger how wrong she was the yuppie's cell phone rang. It was their friends, telling them the campground was closed and they would have to stay somewhere else. The ranger then showed a hell of a lot more restraint than I would have, telling the couple a couple places they could camp. Moral of the story: even if you are from Maine you don't know more than a New Hampshire park ranger, so don't act like you do.
-All along the trail up to the Falls there were large pieces of lumber, almost the size of railroad ties, buried into the ground every couple of hundred feet. They were there to help create steps where the gap might have been too big and provide a break in the slope. But, this got me to thinking: this has to be one of the more dickheaded thing humans do to trees, right? I mean, you find a tree in the woods, cut it down, bring it to a lumberyard to cut it down even more, only to then turn around bring it back to the woods and half-bury it back into the ground, surrounded by trees? That would be like using leather straps to hold the cow pen closed.
-The trail we hiked was just off the Kangamangus Highway. You know what is fun to say? Kangamangus. Go ahead and say it a few times... I'll wait.
-I know that they help you along your journey, but I still think we should impose an age-minimum for people looking to use hiking poles on a trail. I saw a couple of teenagers with them and I wanted to grab them and tell these young people to buck up. It doesn't look good. Seriously, if I don't need to use them then no one under the age of 35 should need them.
-That being said, I was extremely jealous that those kids had hiking poles, because a couple spots on this trail were extremely steep. Again, before we headed up I checked the guide and the Champney Falls trail was described as easy-to-moderate and "good for families and children." Families of mountain goats, maybe. Once again I find myself wondering just who is in charge of grading these trails. I assume it is someone with a great deal of hiking experience, which I think is the wrong way to go. Any trail in New Hampshire is going to seem easy when compared to a hike up Everest. They should have people like me do this kind of grading because if I think it is easy than it actually must be easy.
-I noticed this very weird social phenomenon along the trail. As we were heading up to the Falls we pulled to the side a few times to let faster groups go through, just like I do in golf. All of them passed us without a word. However, on the way down the mountain we passed a lot more people beginning the trail and every single one of them greeted us with a hello and a head nod. I found the stark difference in attitude very apparent. I can only assume it was me. You see, down was much easier of a hike and I would guess that my mood was much better on the way back to the car than it was on the way to the Falls. The people on the way up must not have wanted to ask me how my hike was going because they could see it in my face.
-I had another bonding moment in the parking lot. You see, as the responsible one I brought the backpack with the water, Gatorade, an extra jacket, the camera and energy bars. But, as the responsible one I was also the one in charge of carrying it. So by the time I had finished my little 4-mile jaunt up and down a mountain I had a large, backpack-shaped sweat stain in the center of my shirt. When I got back to the car I saw that several other guys shared a similar pattern on their backs as well. Clearly, this is the mark of the responsible hiker.
-Once we were done hiking we went into nearby Lincoln, New Hampshire for some food. After buying lunch I had 50 cents in change coming my way and was really disappointed that neither quarter was the New Hampshire state quarter with the Old Man in the Mountain on it. I know that you don't only get the state quarters of the state you are in, but for some reason I expect them in New Hampshire, especially northern New Hampshire. I think it has to do with the fact that every single road sign has the Old Man on them. Seriously, the face collapsed in 2003. If you're going to hang on to the Old Man for this long you may as well go all in. It would be like going to Disney World and then not seeing a guy in Mickey costume - the experience just feels incomplete.
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