I made a determined attempt to get to the National Folk Festival in Bangor this past weekend. Yes, I did. Really. Having missed the festival the last two years I didn't want to miss out on all the planned fun and music before the event moved on to another location is the US (it changes venues every three years). Well, things don't always work out. And sometimes that's just fine.

Friday night I drove up to my friend Kathy's camp on spectacular Branch Pond in Ellsworth. College and Bangor-townie friends of mine have been gathering there for years. It's a sweet spot. Spent most of the evening laughing it up around the camp fire, although I did manage to to get in some moonlight paddling on the lake. I kayaked while Tim, my oldest friend in the world, and his dog Ringo paddled along in a canoe. The stars were brilliant and the lake like glass. Just as dawn was about to break the tired crew finally came ashore and hit the sack.

The plan for Saturday was to make a big breakfast and head for Bangor to make a full day of it at the folk fest. We made it through breakfast all right. We then loaded up Pete's van and headed out. But when we reached Route 1A, the heavily traveled main road between Bangor and Ellsworth/Bar Harbor, we knew we were in big trouble. It took ten minutes just to make a left turn north. And it was truly bumper-to-bumper traffic from there, all the way to Bangor. We quickly calculated that we would be much older and grayer and quite a bit more ornery by the time we ever got to Bangor. So Pete whipped the van around and drove us back to camp.

We were briefly disappointed but then quickly snapped into action to salvage the day. And what a day--blue skies and 80 degrees! Pete backed his van up to the edge of the lake, put the speakers out, and turned up the volume. If we couldn't get to the folk fest, why, we'd have it come to us right here (thanks to Maine Public Radio, of course). And there we stayed, relaxing in the sun, throwing back an adult beverage or two, swimming, reading, BBQing, making the occasional foray out on the lake in the kayak or canoe... and listening to some terrific music. We missed actually being there and listening to the shows live, but...

Sunday... ditto above. Bangor plans to continue the tradition with the American Folk Festival next year. I promise I'll get there. Really.

What hiker would be foolish enough to climb to the summit of Mount Washington on the most beautiful weekend day of the entire summer? Well, that would be me of course. And not only that, I went right for the busiest trail up the mountain--the Tuckerman Ravine Trail. Why? Because I wanted experience the full measure of what P.T. Barnum once called it "the Second Greatest Show on Earth."

I was not disappointed. The hike up Tuck's wasn't crowded at all until I reached the top of Tuckerman Headwall. From there on up the summit cone I was part of the mass of humanity that was using Mt. Washington as an outdoor playground on this killer summer day.

On top I joined hundreds (possibly thousands) of visitors who had arrived by car, van, motorcycle, Cog Railway or on foot. It was a crazy scene for sure, but I loved it!

"Did you actually walk up here," asked one couple in very clean vacation clothes who had just stepped out of their car. "Why, yes I did," I said. "YOU ACTUALLY WALKED ALL THE WAY UP HERE," they asked again, rather stunned. I explained that I do this all the time and have done so for many years. But to them such an endeavor was a completely alien concept. I couldn't imagine. No matter how others arrived, though, at least they were here, and were able to see the grand view and experience the majesty of Mt. Washington on such a fabulous day.

I spent several hours among the crowds milling about, shopping and chatting, reading and writing, and generally drinking in the hustle and bustle of this tourist Mecca. I also spent a good deal of time hanging over the railing on the observation deck and enjoying the view of the mountain wilderness stretching before me in every direction. In all my years of hiking up here, I'd never seen it so clear. For that reason alone, I'm glad I made the trek.

Finally, even I couldn't take any more of the crowds and slipped off down the trail. My pace quickened with the thought of some cold post-hike refreshment down in the valley at my favorite watering hole in the White Mountains, the Red Parka Pub.

9/5/04 update: Read the full account of my 8/22 up Mt. Washington.

Spent yesterday doing some trail maintenance up on the Appalachian Trail in the Carry Ponds area with my good buddy Dana. Dana is a volunteer trail maintainer for the Maine Appalachian Trail Club (MATC) , and has maintained a pretty 3-mile section of the AT from West Carry Pond to Arnold's Bog since 1995. I've spent a fair amount of time over the years helping out with brush clipping, cleaning water bars and building bog bridges. It's sweaty work but very satisfying when it's done.

Last spring I decided to become an MATC volunteer too, and adopt my own section of the AT. Incredibly, the section just north of Dana's was available so I grabbed it. It's a beautiful 2-mile stretch of trail that extends from near Middle Carry Pond to the north end of East Carry Pond. There's quiet woods, loons, eagles, a sand beach and some of the clearest, cleanest water in Maine.

On this trip, Dana loaded up his chainsaw and headed south on his section to drop some trees for future bog bridges. I took a pair of clippers and a bucksaw and headed north on my section. Spent the next four very peaceful hours alone, clearing the trail of encroaching brush and overhead branches. Stopped for lunch on East Carry Pond and watched two fishermen out in their boat lazily casting rods. Loons cried while I dozed.

With my trail chores complete for the day, I hiked over to meet Dana near Arnold's Point on West Carry Pond. His chainsaw was acting up so productivity had been pretty minimal. I stood and watched while his saw smoked and sputtered and eventually quit for good right in the middle of a big cut through a cedar tree. That pretty much put an end to our work day. Tired and hungry, we hiked back to the truck bound for a good meal and cold beer.

Just picked up the latest issue of Uncle Henry's. I suppose there's a good chance that I'm the last person in Maine to become an Uncle Henry's convert. Whatever. Some things just take me awhile I guess. Ayuh. I started buying it regularly only last spring when I was looking to buy land and a camp up north somewhere, but now I'm hopelessly hooked on it. I'm still looking for that land and camp, but I've also gotten wicked inquisitive and have branched out even more. Now I check for stuff under many of the other categories, like "Sporting Items." This week you can find anything there from a backpack to a fly rod to a large meat grinder to a six-point buck deer head mounted on oak base with successful arrow! Yessuh! By the way, on the cover of this week's issue of Uncle Henry's it says "CAUTION: Contents may cause rapid pulse, increased phone bill, impulse spending, unexpected excitement, sheer joy and huge savings!" Is that great or what?!

It was all-river-all-the-time this past weekend. Well, actually, there was also an enormous amount of good food, a huge bonfire, and a rather large gathering of very fun people. A dangerous combination for sure, but somehow we managed.

This was Big Bob's annual MOAC Errol NH paddling weekend. And it was a outstanding time! We camped out for 2 nights at Mollidgewock State Park just outside of Errol, right on the banks of the Androscoggin River. There were 35 of us, so it was quite a scene.

We paddled the Androscoggin on Saturday right from the campground. It was 10 miles of easy Class I-II water. In the afternoon we played in the Errol Rips near the junction of Routes 16 and 26. Some folks tubed it, while I duckied it. Dave kayaked it and ended up cracking his helmet on a rock during a roll that went bad! On Sunday we put in downriver at the Pontook Dam and paddled 6-8 miles of fun Class 2 water. In all, it was a fine weekend with good friends. Damn, I just hate when that happens!