My son Seth and I have a tradition. Each summer, we choose a different mountain and a campground near it, pack our gear into my subcompact car, and set off on a father-son adventure. Two summers ago, when Seth was 13, we set our sights on Mt. Mansfield, the tallest peak in Vermont. We were pitching camp at Smugglers’ Notch State Park, surrounded by the lush greenery of the northern hardwood forest, and focusing (I thought) on the myriad details involved in setting up camp, when his question popped out.
“Dad, do you think that on tomorrow’s hike we’ll see the different stages of trees?”
I am never quite sure which aspects of our outings will stick in my son’s teenage mind from year to year. Usually it is the memorable moments related to cooking over past year’s campfires that we retell to each other during the drive toward this year’s campground: like the time when one of our apple rings fell through the metal grate into the flames, and I fished it out and ate it anyway, to Seth’s unending astonishment; or the time it turned out that the matches we had brought along (in a zip-lock plastic bag, to save space) were of the strike-on-box kind, not the strike-anywhere kind. Who would have thought that the intricacies of tree species habitat, which I point out every year on principle as we make our way uphill, could be as memorable?
But here was my son, thinking about ecology and woodland communities. He remembered that the species would be changing with elevation and looked forward to seeing them appear and disappear during our hike. First hour: beech, sugar maple, yellow birch, moosewood. Second hour: paper birch, mountain maple, and viburnum, giving way to spruce and mountain ash.
Then, about the time that the trail gets really steep and we stop for snacks and water, the spruces give way to firs, which then get shorter and shorter, eventually hiding among the rocks. Finally, if we are lucky and have timed our vacation well, we may see clumps, or even carpets, of tiny mountain sandwort in bloom near the summits. As the years passed, we started to observe the finer points. The first spruces, for example, may actually appear among the beech, maple, and birch, but at that point they are very small, few and far between. Then one group gradually fades out as the next takes over, in a smooth continuum. It gives us a way of tracking time, distance, and elevation, all at once.
On the way back down from the Mansfield summit, toward the end of a long day, when we were both getting tired, and most kids would be asking, “How much farther?” Seth looked around and made his own observations. “The spruces are now shorter than the deciduous trees.” Then later: “Oh, there’s the first beech. We must really be getting close to the bottom now!” If he wanted to make me proud, there was no better way to do it.
We started our tradition when Seth was eight, and we started small. We’re lucky enough to have a state park just a 1.5 mile walk (uphill) from home. We focused on the fun of camping and cooking out. I taught Seth how to tie knots, whittle a marshmallow stick, and cook the perfect marshmallow over the after-dinner coals.
Over the years, we’ve gradually worked our way upwards, both in terms of mountains (Ascutney, Camel’s Hump, Lafayette, Moosilauke, Mansfield, Jefferson) and in terms of ambitious cooking. Once we had mastered the basics of hot dogs, beans, apple rings, oatmeal, and pancakes, we moved on to attempt rice and stir-fry.
Every year, at the end of our adventure, we discuss what went well, and what we could improve on next year. In recent years, we have added some refinements, such as an LED lantern, hiking poles to ease the impact on my aging knees, and new boots to accommodate Seth’s growing feet.
Last year Seth was 14, and the difference was striking. His legs were much longer, and he was in good shape, so he could take the trails with much greater ease. We took a practice hike up Black Mountain in Haverhill, New Hampshire, to test out Seth’s new boots and then took our big hike up Mt. Jefferson in August. This time Seth was the one looking back over his shoulder to make sure I was okay and waiting a bit here and there so that I could catch up with him.
As with the progression of tree species along the trail, I know this signals the beginning of bigger changes that lie ahead. Seth seems ready to keep trying more and more ambitious adventures each year, and I just hope I will still be able to keep up with him, at least for a while. Our goal is to conquer at least Mt. Washington, possibly even Katahdin, together before Seth graduates from high school and moves on to bigger adventures of his own.