[at-l] Cohos, rhymes with go-homes Re: No regrets...

[Tom McGinnis]

--- On Mon, 12/21/09, Mark Hudson <mvhudson at gmail.com> wrote:
> For penance I think we should send Sloetoe
> off to do the first winter thru of the Cohos Trail! :-)
> I don't think it's been done yet... and he
> wouldn't get rained on <lol!>
> 
> skeeter
> 
> 
### Ohmygawd, aren't you the ROYAL clown! I nearly splurched this morning's coffee all over when I read that. That was truly a ROTFLMAO. Ohmigod. Huge. Huge!

### 
This was a sloetoe & sons BAIL of the highest order. TOTAL fail (okay, NEAR total fail) of EPIC proportion. It was so wet that one son's feet DELAMINATED -- yes -- whole layers of skin sought to drop off his feet -- outrageously painful, and there was NOTHING I could do about it -- not as father, not as hiker, nuttin'. It was pouring rain, fergawdsake!

### The trail was a rude trick -- a rumor put together with a lie. The Cohos runs from the Canadian Border south to the Whites, crossing the Presidentials near Eisenhower/Pierce and thence south through the Pemigawasett. But what was on the map as completed would lead you on the primrose path and then savage you like some vegetable killer from the Isle of Dr. Moreau. Snow mobile trails that traversed bogs and moose wallows in winter were completely under water in summer -- days of black water up to our hips, weeds over our heads, and mosquitoes unlike ANY primeval hoard I had ever experienced. You didn't have time to swat them -- you could only smear them in a constant dual-armed motion WAY too close to some nervous twitch for comfort. 

### Our best time (mileage AND enjoyment-wise) came when simply, FINALLY, ignoring the frggn MAP and heading cross-country, through the puckerbrush (as it's called), hitting the geographic highlights in a VAGUE attempt to be faithful to a trail that had abused us again and again. The less we paid attention to the map (and physical route before us), and more to "where would we go, if we wanted to go THERE (pointing out at the horizon), and wanted to get there roughly.... this way" -- the easier AND more enjoyable, the hike got.

### But it was too late. Bug's boots (the "Spongeboot") had bathed his feet in water for two solid weeks, I think, and one day, 10 miles from Dixville Notch and nearly within sight of The Balsams 
http://www.thebalsams.com/ as we're going up one of the bigger, steeper mountains, in a now-pouring rainstorm, the skin on Connor's feet gave out. He screams like he'd sliced both feet open lengthwise on blades -- he can't move. Now, this kid is tough, and for him to *scream* like that, I knew there was something major going on.

### In the pouring rain, try to shelter under a tree just off the ski trail we're climbing up. We peel off his gaiters and boot and sock, and there's his foot, flapping like someone had wrapped the sole in a cellophane layer -- him screaming with hot tears at each flutter. And NOTHING I could do.

### Somehow, in one of the bigger demonstrations of grit and quiet determination that I have EVER witnessed in my life, the kid, now reshorn and re-gaitered, puts on his pack, and gingerly commences back uphill.

### OH, BUT I FORGOT TO TELL YA! At the BASE of this very hill, not mile before Connor's foot flapped, I'd pulled them over (so to speak) and said "Look guys, now, you know me, and I'm now quitter. [Nods from both boys.] And I know *you* guys are no quitters. [They trade a blank look with each other.] But this trail has been a lie, and there've been blased parts not on the map, and mapped routes that don't exist, and the *best* progress we've made is by NOT being faithful to the trail, and humping away where we choose. [Nods of agreement.] I know it means you won't get that spot on the [old] website for "First Thru-hikers Age 12-under", but I think we've been had, and what was supposed to be a warm-up for our AT hike is, I GUARANTEE you, MUCH tougher than heading out of Pinkham Notch right now. [Two glimmers of hope] I say we quit this crap, and head to the AT RIGHT NOW. [Silent YES!] I say we get to Dixville Notch and GO. ["Yes! Ah-huh! Absolutely!"]

### They were all over that idea -- the "Cohos Trail" could wait, entirely were it was -- it was impeding a much more important agenda, to which it was supposed to be only ancillary. Screw that. Ten minutes later, Connor's foot flappes out. GAWD!

### So we trudge up the mountain, and down the mountain, in steady, every-wettening rain. We get lost in the ski-maze of The Balsams alpine slopes (each steep because, after all, it's *alpine*), but keep heading generally southwestish, and come out where we need to. Which was a hoot.

### It's 10:00pm at night, we've been trudging without a break since at least 6pm if not sooner. We're covered in mud, soaking wet, and near-delirious with exhaustion, clothed in baseball caps, open parka shells, shorts and those gaiters -- and the ONLY thing that keeps us going is the promise of the car. The car. The car. Food, dryness, rest. The car.

### When we hit The Balsam's parking lot, leaden legs, grime faces, mud to the tops of our knee-high gaiters, we were still a long trudge to the car, on the other side of Dixville Notch. I told the boys, "What this. This is what *hospitality* is all about." We walked into the luxury and warmth and comfort, and were nearly bowled over. I spied the concierge on the other side of the lobby (who definitely spied us), but to get there, I had to wait while whole trains of families -- sport coats and ties, dresses and skirts, down to the smallest members, trooped past us and on into some sort of "Bingo Cave" soiré -- them staring at us (with horror and some strange glint of jealousy), us staring back, horrified and jealous the same.... What a moment.

### So I am able to hiker-shuffle over to the concierge, present him our situation, and ask him a favor. The boys, dripping less but looking all the more waif-ish, are now in front of him, looking up with big, big eyes. "Could we get a ride across the Notch to our car," I askes. "Immediately," comes the answer. I turned to the boys, "Told ya." I said loudly enough to have the concierge hear me, "Hospitality is serious business here. A long tradition..."

### The epilogue? The boys were so tired that they consumed no food -- an Oreo was famously half-eaten in one boy's hand. I had to pull over twice on the short-ish drive to south to Gorham, to stand in the cold and do jumping jacks. We arrived at Hiker's Paradise around midnight to find the second floor hostel alive with activity, but the downstairs darkened and not answering. So we made ourselves at home as best we could, moving out the next day when HP's owners attacked (when I tried to pay). We spent the next two days pumping Connor full of Vitamin E and such, and planning our food drops from Pinkham to Katahdin. And some 4-ish weeks later, were denied Katahdin by Nesowadnehunk flooding from Hurricane Bonnie. (Truly scary stuff.)

Wowwwwww.
Ooop. Got to go.

Cohos. REALLYYYYY FUNNY, SKEETER.
Holy crap, that cracked me up.
And skeeter told us that had we gone even to Dixville Notch, that the trail improved markedly from there south. WONDERFUL. 
But, EPIC fail. Though no trail will EVER catch us like that again. So, big and positive lessons learned, and also, the memory of that kid, standing back up with flapping foot-flesh, and not saying a word about it for the rest of the day!!! How could he DO that??? And then it just re-attached itself! Within 48 hours, he was good to go! HOW?!? {Vitamin E is how.)) At the time, I remember calling Connor a hero -- and now 5 years later, I still stand in awe.

"Quit?" 
Not without a fight.