Late last Saturday morning nine of us trekked up the backside of Caribou Mountain, in the Caribou-Speckled Mountain Wilderness, under perfect blue skies for one last glorious night of winter camping for the season.

The sun was actually hot as we made our way up the valley, and with our heavy winter pack loads on our backs, it was sweaty going. But the snow was cold and firm underfoot—perfect for snowshoeing—and we thankfully sank in very little.

Snowshoeing en masse up Caribou Mtn.

We arrived at the old shelter site in early afternoon and set up camp. It didn’t take long for the place to look well lived in. Colorful tents were erected, clothes and gear adorned the tree branches, connecting paths were stomped out, a fire pit dug, and stoves roared.

Brewing up in camp.

With everyone settled in, fed and re-hydrated, we made for the summit of the mountain, just ten minutes up the trail. And there, for the next several hours, we lounged and talked and napped in virtually windless conditions. Stunning scenery was all around us—the Presidentials, the Carters, the Mahoosucs, Pleasant Mountain, and a few mountains in between that we couldn’t quite identify—and we drank it all in, deeply.

The Presidential Range from the summit of Caribou Mtn.

After dinner, sometime near dusk, the fire was lit, and the pleasurable smell of wood smoke drew us together. Despite the warm day, it was chilly now, and we huddled over the orange glow and reveled in its warmth.

Enjoying the fire...

Around 7, most everybody headed back up to the top to watch the moon rise, but I was foolishly content to hang out by the fire and enjoy some alone time. But then, as I turned away from the fire to warm up my back side, there it was!

The moon—a spectacular blood-red and full—crept slowly upward. I stood there motionless for a minute, watching through the tree branches, in complete awe. That’s when I decided to dash to the top too.

Whack, snap… Ouch! OK, enough branches in the face. I switched on my headlamp and continued. And stopped frequently to look back at the moon. Still red, then bright orange. I hurried on.

The moon was a beautiful pale orange when I arrived at the peak, amid the shadowy shapes of my companions. We stood and stared for a long time. There are amazing moments in the wilderness, when you remember clearly why it is you go out. This was one of those precious moments.

Watching the full moon rise with my trail companions.

Back at camp, I took one last look up at the stars, crawled into my down sleeping bag and snuggled deep into its warmth. I left the doors of the tent open a crack and a refreshing wintery draft wafted past my face. Soon enough, the crew at the fire faded, and I heard them crunch over the snow back to their tents. Silence overtook the camp. Not a breath of wind or creak of a tree. Content and comfortable, sleep came.

I missed the Easter Sunday sunrise, forgot entirely about it. The trade-off was a long, restful night’s sleep. I’ll take it.

After breakfast we broke down camp and packed up. Then it was back to the summit on a now very familiar and well-worn path through the snow. We sat and lazed in the sun and stared out at a view that was impossible to tire of.

Happy and smelly and tired, we trudged back down the mountain under the same brilliant sky as the day before. We shed gloves and hats and fleece and soaked it up. Sunburned faces and big smiles all around signaled a good trip.

On the muddy road back to the cars I discovered that, yes, there really is a House at Pooh Corner. Plates of eggs and hamburgers in a Bethel diner weren’t much of a match for our ravenous appetites. All good. Not quite your typical Easter dinner, but we made do. We always do.