Sunset walk, with turkeys

March 17, 2023February 26, 2026 / Ellen Kolb

I seldom take sunset walks these days. Fresh into Daylight Savings Time, though, I find myself with daylight to work with even after I’m through with the dinner dishes. The lingering light lured me outside yesterday, long enough for a round-the-block stroll. I was well-rewarded: I saw and heard the local turkeys as they called it a day.

We share our suburban development with a flock of wild turkeys. My neighbors and I are accustomed to seeing them a few at a time in our yards throughout the year, patiently gobbling up spilled seed beneath bird feeders or checking out freshly-turned soil in our gardens. The flock has grown over the past several years, and I counted 57 turkeys a few weeks ago, pecking and scratching under nearby power lines for whatever food they could find. They’re habituated to us, but still wild.

_{Wild turkeys flocking together, late winter. Ellen Kolb photo.}

I’m used to hearing gobbling and clucking, along with the occasional thumping whoosh as a turkey takes ungainly flight, usually at just the right altitude to match the grille of an oncoming car. On my recent sunset walk, I heard that whoosh, then another and another. Soon I came upon the cleared space under the power lines, and there they were: dozens of turkeys, taking flight one at a time, not to torment motorists but to head into the nearby pines to roost.

I’d never seen a flock at sunset. I stood fascinated, watching them ascend to their chosen spots. There were a few kerfuffles as some of the roosting birds objected to having their space invaded by later arrivals, but there was ample room in the stand of trees for all of them. Soon the clucking subsided to softer sounds, and the whooshes came to an end.

The timing was none of my doing. I just got lucky. Pretty good stuff, for a spur-of-the-moment walk.

male wild turkey displaying feathers — _{Male wild turkey, posing for his portrait. Ellen Kolb photo.}

According to New Hampshire Fish and Game, wild turkeys were successfully re-introduced into New Hampshire in the 1970s, after more than a hundred years of absence due to habitat loss and overhunting. Since then, the turkeys have been thriving. Too thriving, it sometimes seems: I think every driver in the state has at one time or another had to stop for a bunch of turkeys crossing a road, always one bird at a time, moving at an infuriatingly leisurely pace.

I’ve grown a bit more patient with the big fowls as they’ve moved into the neighborhood. I’ve seen them throughout the year, courting and squabbling and caring for their young. Without meaning to, I’ve picked up a bit about the rhythm of their lives. They’re remarkable, even if they do act as though they own the roads.

Updated 2026 to revise web link.

Teamwork makes solo walks possible

January 30, 2023February 26, 2026 / Ellen Kolb

I was on the Nashua River Rail Trail for a few miles this weekend. I couldn’t help noticing freshly-cut logs and branches along both sides, thanks to volunteers I’ll probably never meet. Breezes and recent heavy wet snow had brought down trees all over the place. On the northernmost stretch of NRRT, the mess is cleared. All I had to toss aside were a few small branches.

*Nashua River Rail Trail: winter winds brought down a tree, and volunteers cleared away the mess. Fence-mending will wait.*

Not so upstate at one of New Hampshire’s largest ski areas which I recently visited. It’s one of the few ski areas in the state with a decent system of trails for Nordic skiers and snowshoers. While the resort’s management is understandably focused on the downhill ski trade (that’s where the money is), there’s not enough staff to keep the snowshoe/fat bike trails cleared, at least not yet this season.

I’ve kept an eye on websites reporting on New Hampshire rail trail conditions. Many of the rail trails are much longer than NRRT and have that much more of a mess to clean up. Enter the snowmobile clubs: I’m aware of two in particular in the southwestern part of the state that put out calls for volunteers for workdays this weekend. I’m sure that snowmobile clubs all over the state are doing the same thing, as pretty much every region got hit by storms over the couple of weeks.

Those clubs are doing work that will make walks much easier for me year-round, not just in winter. Grooming snow, clearing deadfall, and mowing grass take time and equipment and volunteers. I like walking alone, but some of the most enjoyable trails I know wouldn’t be accessible or pleasant without the work of many people. My solo walks benefit from teamwork.

Want to say thanks to the snowmobile clubs? Send a donation, even if you’re not a member. Include a note saying that you’re a grateful hiker. The New Hampshire State Parks website provides a list of clubs, and you can look up a club’s social media accounts (usually updated much more frequently than websites) to find contact information and to keep track of opportunities to volunteer for trail work.

My winter walks thus far have mostly been close to home, in neighborhoods and municipal parks. Those routes could use post-storm help, too. Your town’s parks and rec department or conservation commission might put out a call for volunteers on specific cleanup projects. Be on the lookout for such announcements.

And if you happen to come across some folks doing trail maintenance while you’re out and about, stop to say thanks.

Hike Safe card: not just for mountain hikers

December 26, 2022February 26, 2026 / Ellen Kolb / 1 Comment

For my New Hampshire readers, here’s a plea from me: if you haven’t purchased a Hike Safe card, please do so now. Even if you’re sure you’ll never need to be rescued, buy one anyway. It will be a small way of supporting the state’s Search and Rescue fund. Sadly, demands on the fund never let up.

Take out a credit card, go online to the New Hampshire Fish and Game’s Hike Safe page, and plunk down $25 for a virtual card covering an individual, $35 for a family. If a Hike Safe cardholder needs to be rescued in the course of an outdoor activity, she or he will not in most cases be assessed for the cost of the rescue. Just get the card. Don’t wait.

I write this as I hear news about a hiker who perished upstate while attempting a solo hike on a mountain ridge in winter weather. A few weeks ago, another hiker lost her life in the same area. Rescue attempts, which became recovery missions, involved professional conservation officers from New Hampshire Fish and Game plus many volunteers.

Those same volunteers and first responders would come out even if the trail were less challenging. They don’t write off any of us. Missing hikers, once reported overdue by family or friends, spark a search-and-rescue mission.

I know from experience that hikes can go awry even in good weather on heavily-traveled trails. (A particularly embarrassing day on Monadnock comes to mind.) While I haven’t yet inspired any rescue missions, I’m uncomfortably aware that this could change anytime. I carry simple essentials even for short hikes, but even so, bad stuff happens now and then.

Ninety percent of my trail miles are on flat trails within an hour of my home. I buy a Hike Safe card every year anyway. It’s cheap insurance against being assessed some hefty costs arising from my own negligence. More importantly, the card lets me as a hiker contribute to the readiness of search-and-rescue teams.

Hunters, anglers, and anyone registering a boat, OHRV, or snowmobile already contribute to the Search and Rescue fund as part of their license and registration fees. Hikers don’t need a license. We can pull our weight, so to speak, by purchasing the Hike Safe card.

Early fall, Northern Rail Trail

October 5, 2022February 26, 2026 / Ellen Kolb

If the Danbury Country Store were a human being, it would be my new best friend. This and other treats awaited me as I set out on a long walk on central New Hampshire’s Northern Rail Trail.

Fifteen miles is a big stretch for me, especially after losing fitness and energy to post-Covid problems earlier this year. I had to crawl, figuratively, before I could walk far again. I’ve added a few more miles each week. This week, I decided to go big. I walked on the trail from Potter Place in Andover to the Danbury Country Store and back. I figured that was one way to evaluate how I’m doing.

I’m doing fine. Sore, yes, but fine.

Sights

I’d seen Potter Place before, but its charm catches me by surprise every time. The restored depot in Andover close to the US 4/NH 11 junction is a tribute to the people who care about the rail trail and the railroad’s history. The Northern Rail Trail is in fact well-loved and well-maintained throughout its fifty-plus miles. A big park-and-ride lot just down Depot Street from Potter Place is an ideal spot from which to launch a walk or ride along the trail.

railway car and restored train depot — _{Potter Place: restored depot and an old Central Vermont Railway car.} _{All photos by Ellen Kolb.}

Coming upon an old cemetery is no surprise on any of my walks. In Wilmot, I came upon one that looks beautifully tended. From a distance the markers looks unweathered. They’re all upright. The stone wall around the cemetery is a work of art, albeit with some interesting items (read: “trash”) tucked between some of the stones.

small cemetery with upright stones, surrounded by stone wall with fall foliage in the background — _{Eagle Pond Cemetery, Wilmot}

I even got a glimpse of Mt. Kearsarge. I took a photo that came out fuzzy, but even so one can barely discern the cell tower on the summit, with the fire tower just to its right.

unpaved trail through a forested area with a mountain in the distance — _{Mt. Kearsarge seen from Northern Rail Trail}

Foliage

Fall is my favorite time to take walks, and even the weeks before peak foliage can be splendid. I found plenty of leaves underfoot this week. Remaining foliage in the central New Hampshire area I visited is still a week or two away from full color. Icy blue asters, a last reminder of summer, persist all along the trail, contrasting nicely with the changing leaves.

pond surrounded by trees in autumn foliage — _{Eagle Pond in Wilmot}

Lunchtime

My turnaround spot was the Danbury Country Store. It’s a must for anyone traveling along the NRT. I figured I’d sit on one of the porch seats there and nibble on a Clif bar from my pack. That was before the store’s deli crew set out two fresh hot pizzas. Game, set, match, and the Clif bar retreated to its pocket.

Also at the store: an air pump for cyclists, a huge assortment of beverages, the usual country-store inventory, and a deli where you can have any sandwich made to order. Enjoy. I sure did.

As I write this the day after my walk, I’m nursing a few aches, but they’re good aches. The kind that don’t herald injuries; the kind that whisper please don’t try this two days in a row. Best fifteen miles of the year, and that’s good to write three months after I needed my husband’s help to get around the block.

Fall isn’t winter’s knock on the door. Instead, winter is the price I pay for fall hiking. Fair exchange, in my view.

Sharing the wealth: open land in New Hampshire

July 19, 2022February 25, 2026 / Ellen Kolb

I grew up in south Florida, in a pleasant but crowded neighborhood filled with houses on eighth-of-an-acre tracts. “Open land” to me meant the local playground. I came to New Hampshire as an adult and found a very different culture. People who owned land, were not developers, and were happy to leave their property open to hikers: imagine that! On many of my walks over the years, I’ve been blessed by landowner generosity.

This came to mind not long ago during a walk in Concord that brought me to a gated road at the edge of a school’s property. The school is famous and expensive, with a campus to match. It’s a small town unto itself. I was once invited to speak to a class at the school, and I nearly got lost trying to find my way around. Never mind the buildings, though, impressive and numerous as they are. The best thing about the campus is its open land, the green spaces.

dirt road in a forest with an open gate — _{Private land, limited public use: sharing the wealth. Photos by Ellen Kolb.}

Almost as good: the school’s choice to welcome visitors who simply want to enjoy a walk through the property. Signs are posted along the road: “Walkers, joggers, and cyclists are welcome to enjoy these grounds in a safe and appropriate way.” No checking in, no showing ID, just behave yourself.

I had been to the campus for a few winter walks, taking advantage of clear sidewalks and light traffic on icy days. My recent visit was in summer, when the campus wears a different aspect. I chose to explore a road leading to the school’s boathouse on a nearby pond. As it stretches away from the main campus, pavement gives way to gravel, and the trees in full leaf offer shade all the way to the pond.

Few flowers were growing in the shade. Other vegetation – trees, shrubs, grasses – was thriving in spite of the region’s drought, muting the traffic sounds from the nearby interstate highway. I struggled to identify birds by their songs; their music was everywhere but the birds were hidden in the trees. For once, I had no schedule to keep. I had stumbled onto what I consider pure gold: a path all to myself on an unhurried midweek local walk.

New Hampshire pond with one canoeist and a wooded shoreline — _{If only I’d had a kayak!}

Coming out of the woods at road’s end, the pond gleamed in the sunshine. I could see the highway from there, and I knew that a paved bike path on state-owned land lay on the highway’s other side. Was there a connector? With no “keep out” signs to discourage me, I kept walking. The dirt road dwindled to a path and then to a rough trail…and yes! I walked under the highway on a path that I’m certain is as unofficial as it is locally popular. Soon, I was on the bike path paralleling the highway.

There, I was in full sun. I brushed against oxeye daisies, fireweed, and clover too wild to be controlled by any mower. I didn’t mind the traffic noise; it was the price of admission.

I got back to my car a little over an hour after I’d left it. I’d managed to cobble together a loop featuring the best of the season’s shade and sun. I’m grateful to the stewards of the bike path, and just as grateful to the stewards of the private school’s land. It’s good to be welcomed.

Oxeye daisies and butterfly — _{Oxeye daisies and their tiny visitor.}

Autumn walk to Oak Hill’s fire tower

November 11, 2021February 25, 2026 / Ellen Kolb

Take time for Oak Hill when you’re passing through New Hampshire’s capital city. Concord has many fine parks and trails, but only one includes a fire tower. The tower on Oak Hill was rebuilt not long ago, so it’s as shiny-and-new as you’ll ever find it. A hard frost or two has smacked down the local insects. Autumn colors are muted now, more gold-and-bronze than scarlet-and-yellow. Trees are losing their leaves, and so views are opening up. Wear something that’s blaze-orange; ’tis the season.

Find maps to all of Concord’s trails at concordnh.gov/1033/Hiking-Trails. Oak Hill is #12.

Oak Hill is exactly that: a hill covered with oak trees. It’s all a walk in the woods except for the fire tower and a couple of vistas (conveniently marked on the trail map). Follow the Tower Trail’s yellow blazes from the parking area on Shaker Road. Once at the tower, a climb to the landing just below the cab will reward you with a 360 degree view.