Most associate the concept of going back to work with drudgery and dread. As the Chimney Pond backcountry ranger I tend to look forward to my Monday morning commute (Saturday night hike, in this case) with a kind of gleeful, content anticipation. This weekend ending meant leaving the magnificent Wassataquoik Valley, and I rued the thought of it. It wasn’t the long hike up and over the mountain — no, that I craved. It was the brain expanding colors and reflections; the tender trout; the miles of flat, smooth deep woods walking; the rich evocative smell of rotting alder leaves. However, it was time to go to work.
Pack full, freshly frozen trout and an odiferous bag of freshly roasted ethiopian coffee beans replace the mass of the rice and sardines I carried over. Straps tight, radio check, shirt shed, it’s 4 p.m. on the 28th of September. There’s ten miles and 4,000 feet of muddy, mossy, and mostly rocky elevation to gain and then lose between me and dinner. Two headlamps stowed conveniently, in spite of the fact that I’ll push my feeble ape eyes as far into the darkness as possible. Let those apertures open wide.
Part way there is a brief stop at Davis Pond, then I put my head down to make time and see what my heart is capable of. In front of me, a rise of 2,000 feet and a run of 1.5 miles, catching the sun before it falls will be a job of work. Halfway up this slope I stop for a couple quick check-ins. The sharp orange line of the sun as it climbs the cliffs behind me tells me I’ve got little time to rest. I break out of the krumholtz —short, weather beaten old fir trees — and breath deeply the vast alpine openness. It’s really a push now, the top in sight. Sweat is pouring into my eyes, dripping off my chin in spite of the rapid drop in temperature. The quiet gloaming falls, and I can’t quite tell if I’ll make it to glimpse that plummeting fireball.
With but three minutes to spare the sight is gained, even if the horizon has already eaten half the orange. The finite light paints the eastern sky behind me a calm, bluish purple fishbowl, with defined layers of atmosphere, as described by the big sphere. The valley to which I said a few hours ago is dark now, sleeping. Up here I feel elated to be living. Alone in perfect silence, a wide open sky of emotion opens in me as my skin dries and goose bumps form. Five miles of darkness and boulders between me and bed. My smile does not fade with the light however. Rock and roll.