Happy Birthday to the Cohos Trail!

September 22, 2018 / Ellen Kolb

I’m on a business trip in a faraway city right now, when I’d rather be in Stewartstown, New Hampshire. There’s a celebration going on there in honor of a place and people who have come to mean a lot to me. The Cohos Trail is turning 20, and the coming-of-age party is happening today.

Lake Francis, along the Cohos Trail

In twenty years, I’ve spent maybe eight hours on trail maintenance up there in northern New Hampshire. That’s not even a blip in the tally of volunteer hours and days and weeks given by countless people over the past two decades to build and maintain the CT. If I were at today’s party, I’d be able to meet some of them and offer face-to-face thanks. As it is, this meager post will have to do.

Two people are responsible for drawing my attention to the Cohos Trail: John Harrigan and Kim Nilsen. Harrigan’s old columns in the New Hampshire Sunday News described an intriguing region full of an unfamiliar above-the-notches beauty at which no tourist brochure had ever hinted. He wrote as a lifelong North Country resident and outdoorsman. When I read his words, my imagination was fully engaged.

The first thing I ever read by Kim Nilsen was a magazine article about the Pondicherry reserve through which the CT passes. The photo accompanying the article showed an arresting vista that has since become familiar to me: serene Cherry Pond with the Presidentials looming just past it. Words and image alike were magically compelling.

View of the Presidential Range from Cherry Pond in the Pondicherry Wildlife Refuge.

I read that Pondicherry article sometime around 2005. The following year, I began making plans to hike the Cohos Trail in 2009, as a 50th-birthday gift to myself.

I had never backpacked. My camping experience had begun and ended with Girl Scouts forty years earlier. I had no backpacking equipment. I had no aerobic conditioning. I had a comically inaccurate vision of how far and how fast I could move with a pack. And in 2009, I set off anyway.

It was a trip sharply different from the one I had first envisioned. It was shorter, less ambitious, and highly dependent on support from fellow Cohos Trail fans. It was also one of the highlights of my life. Each step stretched me in body and mind.

First Connecticut Lake and Mt. Magalloway, seen from Mt. Prospect

The overwhelming generosity of people along the way caught me by surprise. John Harrigan had written about that spirit, but I never thought it would be lavished on a stranger like me. People welcomed me to their cabins, and the tent for which I had so carefully shopped got little use. I was treated to a kayak trip up East Inlet. I was taken to Pittsburg’s Old Home Day. I was driven along forty miles of Pittsburg’s unpaved roads, giving me a better sense of the vast town in which I was hiking. I got a very muddy day-long hands-on tutorial in trail maintenance.

Border marker on the way to Fourth Connecticut Lake.

I managed to hike a little, too: eighty-some-odd miles over nearly two weeks. Lots of slack time in there, to be sure. To this day I treasure my photo of one of the little brass international-border markers on the way to Fourth Connecticut Lake. The Quebec border was a sort of finish line. The trail has continued for me, though, from that day to this.

None of this would have been possible if Kim Nilsen hadn’t envisioned the trail many years ago and then inspired people to bring the vision to life. I’d have gotten nowhere without the work of trail adopters. I’d be poorer without the words of John Harrigan that first brought the North Country to life for me.

I’d never have known the incomparable feeling of setting up camp after a particularly beastly day on the trail, and being lulled to sleep by rain and a loon and the sound of the Connecticut River flowing into Lake Francis.

I go back to the trail once a year for two or three days at a time. Once I even pulled off a one-day trip. Eight hours in the car for five hours of trail time makes perfect sense to anyone in thrall to the Cohos Trail.

I’ll turn 60 next year. I want to celebrate with another CT hike. A real one, not a weekend visit. I want to concentrate again on the northern section, enraptured as I am by the Connecticut Lakes and the generous town of Pittsburg.

It all started for me with the work of two New Hampshire wordsmiths. I’m grateful to them, and to everyone involved in the Cohos Trail Association. I can’t be with Association supporters today as they celebrate. All I can do is express the gratitude that I’ll feel for their work all my life.

Second Connecticut Lake

Last Day on the Road

August 19, 2009May 31, 2025 / Ellen Kolb

bee balm in bloom — _{Summertime bee balm along the Cohos Trail. Photo by Ellen Kolb.}

Twelfth and last in a series about my Cohos Trail section hike in 2009. If you’ve enjoyed reading about this journey, I hope you’ll consider supporting the Granite State Walker blog. Thank you!

After seven hot hours, I made it from Pittsburg village to Sportman’s Lodge. It was much more comfortable, not to mention faster, to be walking without a tent or pad or several days’ worth of food.

I slept like a baby last night. No matter how I try, there’s just no way I feel as secure in a tent as I do in a place like a cabin with a lock on the door.

I decided to spend some of my fast-dwindling cash supply on a really, really good breakfast. I went to Dube’s Pittstop (yes, an extra T), where the lone waitress was cheerfully attending to a nearly-full house. I ordered my plateful of food along with coffee & OJ, and then heard a cheerful greeting from the next table. I looked over and there was Armand, sitting with 5 or 6 buddies over coffee. A small town, indeed.

When I finished up, I bought a couple of bottles of some kind of flavored non-carbonated water-type stuff (couldn’t they just carry Gatorade??). Armand called out “May it all be downhill.” Surely, there’s no finer farewell for a hiker! We were laughing as I stepped outside for the last leg of the trip.

I took Rt. 145, & when I got to Clarksville Pond Rd., I took one look down Old County Road & decided to stay on 145 until Creampoke Road. When I got to the 45th Parallel marker, I hung my hat on its corner and propped my pack & trekking pole against the sign’s support pole & then took a picture. It occurred to me then that I should have been using that hat as a photographic prop throughout the trip.

145 climbs a bit leaving Pittsburg and heading through Clarksville. I cheered when I got to the little signs warning trucks to use low gear, knowing that meant a downhill stretch was coming up. On Creampoke Road’s long eastward run, a truck slowed down beside me & the driver said “Didn’t I see you in Pittsburg this morning?” Darned if it wasn’t one of Armand’s breakfast companions! We went our separate ways after a brief cheerful chat.

I packed 40 ounces of drinks & should have packed more. I packed 3 energy bars, & I could have done with one. Solid food seemed an unnecessary distraction.

After turning from Creampoke to Haines Hill Road which becomes McAllaster, I came to a fork that puzzled me. There was a logging cut on the left with a path through it, and a path like a snowmobile trail off to the right. I remembered going past a logged area when I came up here, but I hadn’t seen the fork from that direction. I used the 10-minute rule that has served me well on the trip, and I didn’t even need the full 10. About 3 minutes of walking into the log yard showed me a dead end on a little knoll.

Suddenly, I heard my phone buzzing. That little hill brought me into cell range, probably pinging off a Canadian tower. I was receiving a text my daughter had sent the night before. I texted her back with an update on my location.

Out of the logging yard, onto the other path, out of cell range: right back where I belonged. My compass confirmed I was heading SSW, close enough to south to be reassuring. The path gradually widened. I came around a curve and saw a massive tree down across the road. Suddenly, I remembered the tree from my northbound walk, and I knew where I was. The tree had been leaning over the road quite precariously when I last saw it. Once past the tree, I recognized the farm ahead, and soon I reached Bear Rock Road. The route was a piece of cake from there, with nothing ahead but signed town roads. By the time I got to Diamond Pond Road, I was dragging, but I knew I was almost done.

Coleman State Park at last! It was just a mile away from my goal, and I was more than ready for water when I got there. The park was deserted except for me and a lone motorcyclist. I dropped my pack & trekking pole on a picnic table & made a beeline for the nearest faucet. I filled my bottle & drank it straight down, savoring shade & water. A faint cell signal let me text my family that I was nearly done. My daughter sent a joyous message back a few moments later. In the patchy world of cell phone service in Coos County, there’s a faint signal at Coleman and no signal at all at the lodge a mile away.

Twenty minutes later, I was at the lodge. I let my host Roger know I was back, told him I needed no dinner service, and went straight upstairs for a shower, clean clothes, and some rest. I felt utterly exhilarated.

We’ve had a good evening here, watching the Sox game. Linda and Roger treated me like an honored guest. Corey, a neighbor whom I met at last year’s Cohos Trail gathering, greeted me like an old friend & wanted to hear about the hike. We all chatted, criticized our pitcher (Buchholz tonight), & put up with dogs & cats vying for attention. I called it a night after 5 or 6 innings, as did Corey.

My inventory of bodily damage from this escapade actually amounts to a short list.
Blisters: healing.
Toes: A few discolored toenails. Nothing I haven’t seen before.
Sunburn: during one stop along the way today, I was alarmed to see little blisters in patches on my shins. I’ve got sunburn over sunburn. I didn’t bother with sunscreen today because I figured I’d only sweat it off within the hour. I now have a painful reminder to USE it hourly, if necessary. I intend to lecture my kids about this. (They’ll ignore me. At their age, I didn’t want to hear it, either.)
Left knee: An arthritic joint, to be sure, now sore to the point where I need a pillow under it when I lie down. Nothing new. Naproxen & rest will help.

Tomorrow: laundry, reading, review my photos, and maybe do some kayaking (with lots of sunscreen) on Big Diamond Pond. The day after that, my husband will be here to pick me up and get his first look at the area.

Let’s see: 17 to 19 miles for today, depending on the relative accuracy of Google Maps & my own calculations. Actual one-way CT mileage from lodge to border, including spurs to lodging, & including 2 miles between Coleman SP & Tumble Dick Notch, comes to 51 miles. That excludes the work on the trails with Lainie, since it was road walking on US 3 that got me to the border. These calculations are for the benefit of all those people in my life who will only want to know how far – how many – how long. It all amounts to 85 miles altogether in 8 days of walking, if anyone asks.

It’s been three years from idea to fruition for this trip. From here, right now, it seems that it all went by in a flash.

Celebrating An International Trail

August 18, 2009May 31, 2025 / Ellen Kolb

Representatives of three trail organizations celebrate the linking of trails in the U.S. and Canada. — l-r: Kim Nilsen of the Cohos Trail Association, Gloriane Blais of Sentiers Frontiers, and Richard Andersen of the International Appalachian Trail.

Eleventh in a series of posts about a 2009 hike on the northernmost section of the Cohos Trail.

I saw a magnificently starry night last evening through the mesh of my tent. Awesome, in the original sense. It occurred to me this is the first time on the trip I’ve seen such a clear night sky. I’ve fallen asleep too early most nights, & it’s been cloudy on some others. I’ll treasure the memory of last night’s view, with so many more stars than I can ever see at home. I started identifying constellations, but quickly decided to forget that. I just stared up at the sky like a kid, with a silly grin on my face. I couldn’t even articulate a prayer of thanks beyond “…this is soooooo cool.”

Pete & Lainie picked me up at 8:25 this morning, accompanied by Kim Nilsen, who first came up with the whole idea of a Cohos Trail. Today’s official celebration of the joining of the CT with a Canadian trail is something he’s wanted to see for a long time.

The press conference turned out to be quite an event, with a wonderfully festive tone. About 70 people were there. Half were hikers, there to begin a 6-day hike arranged & sponsored by Sentiers Frontaliers. Of course, every Canadian there was bilingual, while we few Americans were trapped in English. There were no NH or US VIPs, but our hosts welcomed a mayor & a prefect & provincial deputies. So now we have an international trail! It was a happy morning.

I have taken my trip during the year’s first official heat wave. Here at Robie’s Cabins, back in the land of satellite TV, channel 9 is reporting that Nashua hit 96 today. I know I had two mighty hot days on US 3 yesterday & the day before. Today, I’ve been driven everywhere, so the temperature hasn’t affected me much.

Here in Pittsburg village, I’m in a comfortable little unit here on Main Street. I’m catching up on news & sports & weather. There’s a DVD player & a selection of discs, and I’ve picked one out for the evening. I’ll be able to call home tonight. I’ve hand-washed the bulk of my laundry, & pieces are draped here & there to dry. I shipped off the tent & assorted gear at the post office down the street. This has been a pretty productive afternoon.

Channel 9 forecasts storms tonight and maybe early tomorrow. That should break the heat for now. Unless we’re in for all-day rain, I plan to put in however many miles it takes to get all the way back to Sportsman’s. I’ll get a good breakfast at the diner up the street, and then I’ll be off. I’ve already called Roger at the lodge to tell him I’m coming in a day early. I’m eager to get going. As my husband would say, I can smell the barn.

Fourth Lake & A Glimpse of Quebec

August 17, 2009May 31, 2025 / Ellen Kolb

U.S./Canada border marker at Pittsburg, NH

Tenth in a series of posts journaling a 2009 hike on the northernmost section of the Cohos Trail.

The day was indeed uncomplicated, & sleep was untroubled until the first logging truck roared onto the dirt road just across from my campsite at 5 a.m. I’ve changed sites for tonight.

I woke up to find everything in the tent damp from condensation. Very unpleasant, but not surprising. This muggy weather stays overnight, even though the heat takes a break for a few hours. Tonight, I’ll cram into a plastic garbage bag all items that will fit.

The heat really took a lot out of me today. I was such a sweaty mess when I got back from the border that I got cleaned up & changed as soon as I returned to camp, even though the day was far from over. T-shirt & shorts & the indispensable socks are hanging to dry after a good rinse in spring water.

I MADE IT!!! I’ve reached the northern end of the Cohos Trail. I crossed into Canada long enough to enjoy a snack on the hill overlooking Chartierville. I got here with NO northbound shuttles past Sportsman’s Lodge, on my own two blistered feet, through rain & heat & pavement & rocks & weeds. I did it, I did it, I did it. I’m 50 years old, and I’ve just had a dream come true that would never have occurred to me at 40. And I have had so much fun in the process that it’s just plain ridiculous.

Amid all this lofty prose, the tent ceiling is drooping AGAIN. That’ll keep me humble.

Conditions for today’s hike were the same as yesterday’s, & the moose are still avoiding US 3 in the heat of the day.

As I passed Third Lake, a coyote howled over & over from somewhere on the other side. I heard a loon somewhere out there as well. These were the only sounds – no traffic at those moments.

The border crossings were quick & uneventful. I stopped on the US side to confirm that I could get back in with my passport. I then walked to Canadian customs, stopping to photograph the boundary monument. I’m sorry no one was around to take a picture of me standing there. This was not a place to seek help from the border agents. Very serious men, every one. I can usually elicit a smile from people. Not these guys.

At the Canadian station, I discovered – oh, the letdown! The disappointment! – that they had no need to stamp my passport. The document therefore still looks unused. Stamp or not, though, I couldn’t have entered Canada or returned to the US without it. Glad I brought it. Upon seeing my lunch bag & my trekking pole, and probably getting a whiff of my unshowered body as well, the Canadian agent nodded at my request to cross over for a short walk. Looking at the posted list of prohibited items, I quickly added that I was carrying a jackknife. That almost drew a smile from the agent – a ghost of a smile was in there somewhere. He saw no need to inspect my little bag, and he sent me on my way.

I have been told that it’s amazing to cross into Quebec from NH because of the abrupt change from forest to farmland. Turns out that’s absolutely true. The view from the border is really quite striking: US 3 becomes Rt. 257, and it heads straight north to Chartierville, three miles away – downhill all the way in one gentle rolling drop after another. The day was too hazy for any good photo of this scene. Little town, lots of farmland, lots of signs in French: welcome to Quebec.

I decided after seeing that downhill road that I was not going to check out Chartierville. The trip back would have been time-consuming and, quite frankly, a drain on my legs, and I still had 4th Lake on the day’s agenda. Instead, I found a picnic area in a small meadow just past the border station, with three shaded picnic tables & a tourist kiosk & view to the north. I took out my water & my snack & enjoyed my 15 minutes of international travel right there.

The meadow was full of energetic cedar waxwings, flying from trees to meadow to picnic tables in search of worms or insects or whatever it is they live on. The heat wasn’t slowing them down a bit. They kept me quite entertained, though I was too slow to get good pictures. I never knew they could hover, but hover they did when examining a promising patch of ground.

Back to the USA. I told the agent I wanted to go on the 4th Connecticut Lake trail, and he waved me toward it. Within about 2 minutes, I was very glad I hadn’t gone to Chartierville & back. This little trail went up a few hundred feet in seven-tenths of a mile. One of the photos attached to this post shows the view down to the border station from about halfway up the trail. Wherever it wasn’t rocky, it was muddy. I needed the trekking pole, especially on the way down. But … I got there! Fourth Lake is a peaceful, unassuming little bog. It’s a marvel to think of the lakes I’ve seen on this trip all starting out here.

The walk back to camp in the afternoon was anticlimactic. I was hot & lethargic, & I went through my water much too fast. There’s a little unmarked pullout at 3rd Lake where small boats can put in. I stopped there to sit by the shore & cool off for awhile. I soaked my bandanna in the chilly water & then tied it around my neck. Heavenly. (That bandanna has been really good to have on this trip.) A couple from Florida sat nearby with their 3 dogs. The largest of the 3 was Mick, a boisterous creature who liked chasing his little Frisbee into the water. With the owners’ OK, I tossed the toy into the lake again & again, & Mick splashed right in to retrieve it & dog-paddle back to shore for another round. He would shake off cold water all over me after every retrieval. I loved it.

Back to US3, grinding it out one step at a time. I promised my kids I’d do no hitchhiking, and never was that promise more sorely tested than today. I behaved myself, though, and returned to Deer Mountain under my own power. I stopped at the spring at the park entrance to refill my water bottle, and I drank a third of it down in one long pull.

No rest for the weary just yet. I was determined to change my campsite to avoid another 5 a.m. logging-truck wakeup call. I’m now just a stone’s throw away from the ranger’s office & house. I’ll bet logging trucks don’t wake HIM up at 5.

Relocated & freshened up by 3:30 in the afternoon, I dropped onto my sleeping pad & slept for an hour. A breeze blowing through the tent was a big help. When I woke up, I felt thoroughly refreshed, though really hungry. I put a good dent in the contents of the bear box, washing it all down with water. Delightful.

It’s 7:30 p.m. now, & I miss having a book, & I’m picturing my family watching Jeopardy. Today’s reading material has consisted of tourist brochures too bland to keep as souvenirs. If I can’t read, I can write, & this keeps me occupied in camp.

Ooohh, I can feel the air mucking up again. Tent fly off, mesh wide open: let’s hope that keeps the humidity at bay.

NH’s Northernmost Park

August 16, 2009May 31, 2025 / Ellen Kolb

entrance sign at New Hampshire's Deer Mountain State Park — _{NH’s northernmost state park, Deer Mountain, five miles from the Canadian border.}

Ninth in a series of posts journaling a 2009 hike on the northern section of the Cohos Trail.

I figured I’d be out for six hours today, & I was right. That included stops. I scurried out this morning without much breakfast, and I paid for that later, as five minutes’ thought would have warned me. No matter. I’m here, at Deer Mountain State Park, five miles from Canada.

It took half an hour to walk from the Bungalow down to US 3. I stopped at a store a little north of Happy Corner, Treats & Treasures, to buy (& drink on the spot) a bottle of Gatorade. I knew I’d need the calories as well as the fluid. At 2nd Lake dam, about two-thirds of the way to Deer Mountain, I stopped for about 20 minutes because I was bonking. My no-breakfast decision caught up with me. I nibbled on a Powerbar & drank some water, then nibbled some more as a few minutes’ rest revived me. I lay on the grass in the shade, leaning against my backpack, feeling better by the minute. The spray from the dam was a treat.

Route 3 was hot and shadeless at midday. I saw no moose – not a one – though to be fair, any self-respecting moose spent today by a shady brook.

It’s the end of a summer weekend. I saw a fair number of out-of-state plates. Lots of day trippers came north with their kayaks, I presume for East Inlet. I saw so many motorcyclists that I worried they were all headed to Deer Mountain to camp, leaving me without a site. They weren’t, meaning they must have been Quebecois heading home.

I stopped at a spring on the roadside a bit north of 2nd Lake. While I was filling my bottles with that wonderful cold water, two people drove up to fill a pair of five-gallon jugs. They’re regulars here. They caught me up on the forecast for the next couple of days, and it sounds good, meaning no rain.

Humid, sticky day. I’ve been disappointed about not being able to hike up Magalloway, but that doesn’t bother me so much now. This may sound like sour grapes, but it’s been so muggy & hazy the past few days that visibility from the fire tower must be lousy.

It’s 5 p.m. now, there’s a soft breeze coming on, and the sun is becoming less harsh. Families are pulling into camp to claim their spaces. I saw the reservation sheet, and at least two sites have been rented for the week, starting today. It’s very peaceful here. I can see the attraction.

The attendant here, whose office is a little patio adjoining his cabin, recommended an out-of-the-way site for me. It’s right on Moose Flowage, as the Connecticut River is known in this stretch. I love the sound of the water, & while the site is buggy, I have DEET. Good enough. I actually have a couple of spots within the park that I can go to get away from the bugs. One is here, at the 2-table picnic area out front on US 3, beside the campground’s flagpole. The pole sports the most faded NH flag I have ever seen, and a somewhat less beaten-up American flag. Maybe a VIP coming to the Sentiers Frontaliers/Cohos Trail press conference Tuesday will be moved to spring for new ones.

ALMOST there. Third & Fourth Connecticut Lakes are just a few miles away. My goals tomorrow are to get to 4th Lake and thus reach the current northern terminus of the CT, and to get over the border long enough to get my passport stamped. Lainie pointed out that bringing my backpack through Canadian customs, as I had planned to do, would be a headache. She’s right. I’ll try for the border tomorrow while my heavy equipment stays here.

The park attendant says the spring water here is fine, and I guess I believe him. He looks hydrated enough. He also said my bear canister was OK but probably not necessary. He hasn’t had a bear pester anyone here for three years. Fine. Let’s make it four. I’m using the canister. It’ll foil the raccoons, at any rate.

I’m sponging down my aching feet with my bandanna soaked in cool spring water. Ahhhh. The daily routine has been to soak my feet in cold water after a long day, dry them off, and put fresh padding around the nearly-healed blisters. (Another lesson from this trip: do not ever hike in wet socks.) That’s working well. My left knee was the day’s chief troublemaker. After 13 miles, it’s entitled to protest – just not for long.

A pair of hummingbirds entertained me for awhile when I arrived. I can hear plenty of other birds with unfamiliar songs. Sunburn & all, it’s been a glorious Sunday. This really is a lovely little piece of God’s creation.

Snug and dry as this tent was at Lake Francis, I’m still annoyed that I am never able to pitch it tight enough to keep the already-low roof from drooping. Also, I’m on a platform, and I’m still figuring out the best way to pitch and guy out my nonfreestanding tent. This trip is a learning experience. I’ve rolled back the fly and hooked it to the low side of the tent to keep ventilation going on this muggy evening. If it starts raining, I can have the fly up in a minute.

I can hear voices from nearby sites only faintly. I’m far from other sites but actually close to US 3.

I’ve put the bear canister a short distance from the tent platform. No bear is going to come after me, but I am concerned about a bear wanting my food if the food is tucked in with me. Perhaps I need a tad more fortitude.

OK, so I have fortitude of a sort. I’ve walked a fair chunk of the Cohos Trail alone. No one can ever take this away from me. I’ve also had some wonderful encounters with other people, & no one can ever take that away from me, either. This relatively inexperienced hiker is on top of the world.

For all the concerns expressed by family & friends as I prepared to take this trip, the most dangerous part of my walk so far was probably today, walking along Rt. 3. Drivers were very friendly as they zipped past me in their fast little cars. But here I am, thank God, with no injuries but the ones I’ve inflicted on myself. My feet really do look like a podiatrist’s nightmare.

My husband wondered how I’d get by without reading material. He knows me well. I brought a magazine with me on the trip, and I decided to leave it at the Bungalow for the next occupants. I dropped every little thing I could spare to cut the pack’s weight, & I’m glad I did. But oh, I could go for something to read right now!

This trip is over the hump, & my husband & kids & home are coming in sight. It’ll be good to see them again. As soon as I get back home, it’ll be time to help my daughter pack for her departure to UNH. That seems awfully close now.

It’s nearly dark, and I’ve written enough. God grant me untroubled sleep & an uncomplicated day for tomorrow!

My First Old Home Day

August 15, 2009May 31, 2025 / Ellen Kolb

Note: Pittburg’s Old Home Day had nothing to do with the Cohos trail. The festival’s date, right in the middle of my trip, made the celebration too tempting to pass up. This was great fun.

Eighth in a series of posts journaling a 2009 hike on the northern section of the Cohos Trail.

I’m very happy I made a point of being in town for Old Home Day, even though it extended my stay at the Bungalow. My dad used to say that fish & company stink after 3 days, and I’ve been here for four & a half.

My host got a call just a few days ago, requesting that he march with the North Country Community Band in the parade. Thus I learned that he plays cornet – and not badly, either. He said he didn’t play often nowadays. But there he was in the parade, with about 20 other musicians. It takes people from 4 or 5 towns to make up this little band.

Floats abounded, many of them pulled by tractors. There was that Pittsburg HS baseball team, waving to the crowd & tossing candy to the kids. Sign on their float: “We told you we’d be back.” Loved it. There were one or two politically-themed floats; let’s just say this isn’t Obama country. Beecher Falls & Colebrook sent fire trucks to augment Pittsburg’s little contingent. They were all noisy & flashy, as fire trucks in a parade should be.

I think the entire town (population 800) came out, along with plenty of folks from neighboring towns. Pittsburg’s 4th of July festivities were rained out, I heard, and everyone seemed determined to make up for that.

After the parade, the town green was filled with tents & booths & food & games. I had a pulled-pork meal at one of the tents, and every bite was a tribute to God’s providence (so THAT’S what pigs are for!) — even the cole slaw, of which I’m not usually a fan. I had to check out the book sale table. It had maybe 50 books, most of them romances. Nope. I had better luck at the bake sale table, where I found brownies nearly as good as my son’s, and his are awesome.

I walked to the south end of Main Street to photograph the last of the town’s 3 covered bridges. I stopped at Robie’s Cabins to confirm my reservation for Tuesday night, & the proprietors showed me where I’d be staying. Amazing day, and a fascinating look at a town very different from my own. I’d never have had this without the Cohos Trail.

Except for my breakfast & my water bottle, I’ve packed everything to move on to Deer Mountain SP in the morning. Tomorrow will be the last day with a full pack. I’ll leave the park on Tuesday, with a shuttle ride to the village. On Wednesday, I’ll mail home my tent & pad. Goodbye, dead weight.

Now, it’s back to the village for fireworks at Murphy Dam to cap off the day.