THE FAR SIDE OF THE SKY
© Christopher Earls Brennen
CAMEL'S HUMP
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep."
From ``Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost, 1922.
All of us who have spent hours in the wilderness beyond the reach of civilization recognize the potential dangers inherent in our ventures. It is, we accept, part of the attraction, part of the adrenalin-rush inherent in successfully overcoming the risks and proving our ability to overcome the dangers. Those of us who continue to defy the inherent odds, usually come to adopt a basic set of rules and practices that minimize those dangers so that we can continue our exciting adventures. Basic practices such as carrying a set of essential equipment and leaving word of our plans with close friends or family. It also includes carefully making and following plans. Yet all of us with that adventure-bug have occasionally transgressed and come close to paying a serious price for those violations. This is a simple account of an occasion on which I, as a seasoned hiker, neglected several of the basic practices and almost paid a heavy price.
It was August 1994 and I was scheduled to give a series of technical lectures in White River Junction, Vermont. The easiest way to get there was to fly to Burlington, Vermont, and to drive from there to White River Junction. Since my lectures were not scheduled to start until the next day I had several hours to spare during the drive from Burlington to White River Junction. I idly considered that it might be nice to stop for a brief hike in the lovely mountains that lined the route. During the journey I had seen posters advertizing hikes in the Camel's Hump State Park and then, during the drive, signs indicating the route to that park. Almost without further thought, I followed those signs and soon found myself at the Monroe Trailhead, 1495ft elevation and deep within the forests of Camel's Hump State Park. Initially, my very casual and unplanned idea was to hike just a mile or so along the Monroe Trail that apparently led to the summit.
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| Camel's Hump from the west |
The Camel's Hump is a prominant peak in the Green Mountains of the State of Vermont. The north slope of the mountain borders the Winooski River. The local Native-American people, the Abenaki, called the mountain ta wak be dee esso wadso, or tahwahbodeay wadso, which has been variously translated as resting place, sit-down place, and prudently, we make a campfire in a circle near water (and rest) at this mountain. The explorer Samuel De Champlain named the mountain Le Lion Couchant but after about 1830 it became known as Camel's Hump because of its distinctive shape. But here at the Monroe trailhead, surrounded by dark pine forest there was little to be seen and so I hiked on hoping for the views to open up. The trail was dark and stoney, slow going, but I pressed on without much thought or plan. Soon, after 1.3mi, I reached the junction of the Monroe and Dean trails where I stopped for a brief rest and to take stock on my options. I realized that I was running short on time and, in retrospect, should have turned around and returned to the car. But I still had not had a good view. And summit fever had begun to creep in for I was now only about 1.5mi from the summit of the Camel's Hump. I looked again at my watch and wondered if I had time to summit. I was not entirely sure when daylight would end but I argued that, out West, I had often hiked in the evening and in low light. None of this was reasoning was sensible as events were to prove. But so it was that, without adequate planning and ill-equipped, I set out for the summit.
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| Camel's Hump Trail |
Beyond the trail junction, the track was signifcantly rougher and slower. The last section to the summit was a scramble but finally the views opened up and in the dimming light I sat briefly on the summit to enjoy the setting sun. Normally the views from the summit are stunning; sometimes Owl’s Head in Canada, Mount Mansfield, the Adirondacks, and Lake Champlain, can be seen on a clear day, sometimes even Mount Washington in New Hampshire. But I had little time to linger. My circumstances began to cause me concern and I rapidly began my descent in dimming light. It was getting quite dark as I returned to the Monroe/Dean trail junction and set off for the final 1.3mi to the trailhead. But now the forest seemed to become unremittingly dark, much darker than I ever had to deal with in the West. I began to curse myself for setting out without even a flashlight. There was no moonlight or starlight, at least none that penetrated the forest. I knew there was no option to press on, but I could barely see the trail, the ground below and in front of me. I inhaled deeply to calm my fear knowing there was no option but to press on.
I realized that if I strayed from the trail I would be in deep trouble and rapidly lost in the forest without any way to find my way back to the trail. So it became essential to overcome the dark and continue to press on along the trail. I knew I had to be less than three-quarters of a mile from the trailhead but my progress had now slowed to a crawl. The light was now non-existent: I could not even see my feet. But through my panic, I realized that I could feel the rocks of the trail through my feet and that allowed me to stay on the trail. So it was that very slowly I felt my way over the last half mile back to the trailhead. Finally I reached the trailhead. It was an enormous relief to sit in my car and regain my composure.
It had been a frightening experience and I still had to find my way to White River Junction and prepare for an early morning start the next day. In recounting the events, it is humbling to list all the basic mistakes I made, not informing anyone of my plans, indeed not having a plan and not adjusting to the recognizable circumstances, not carrying adequate equipment (flashlight, warm clothing, cell phone, etc.). There is little I can say but hang my head.
Last updated 1/1/23.
Christopher E. Brennen