Just a Mom Outside: Rain, Rain: We're Camping Anyway

Ripe bunchberries growing in the middle of our trail up Blueberry Mountain.

I'm sorry for inundating you with so many posts all in one week. I'm making up for having written only one post in all of July (warning: I'm not done yet). It wasn't that I wasn't spending time outside. It was that I was spending so much time outside that I didn't have time to write anything. Also, as I mentioned in a previous post, we had a visitor from Missouri for two weeks. A friend's 13-year-old son wanted to ride an airplane (the only other time he has been on a plane was when he and his mom visited us when he was 7), so we arranged for him to come and help out with the kids this summer in exchange for some Boston sightseeing and a backpacking trip.

A view of the upper slide on Bickford Brook.
Sunlight is reflecting off the stream pouring
into a deep mountain pool.

Unwisely, we planned the backpacking trip for his last weekend with us. Mother Nature cooperated in her usual way and planned to thunderstorm both days. We searched for an alternative camping spot, but it seemed that the entire east coast within reasonable driving distance of our home would be hit with the storm. Having promised our young friend a camping trip, we had little choice but to pack up the rain flies and emergency rain ponchos, cross our fingers, and head for the trail.

The skies were alternately cloudy and sunny on our 4 hr drive to Maine (we hit some traffic). "I won't mind if it stays like this," one of us said as we looked up at a gray but not forbidding sky. It was overcast as we drove through the White Mountains along New Hampshire's scenic Kancamagus Highway, and our visitor got only a limited view of the magnificent, rolling peaks. Still, given the flatness of his native Missouri, the limited view must have still been impressive. When we finally arrived at the Bickford Brook trail head near Fryeburg, Maine, we were optimistic that the weather report had been in error.

My 2-year-old on the trail. As you can see,
it wasn't raining here. This was on our hike out.
I didn't stop to take pictures during the rain.

I'm sure you can predict what happened next: As soon as we got our packs on and started down the trail, it started to rain. Then it started to pour. Fortunately, the tree canopy shielded us somewhat, but we all got out our rain gear. When we found a camping spot about half a mile in (the shortest hike-in we've ever had, I think, but it was a good time for it), the first thing we set up was our newly purchased rain tarp (we'd realized we owned three hammocks but only two rain flies for said hammocks). Then we hastily set up the remaining rain covers and got to work collecting firewood before it got completely soaked.

It rained all that night, but night is the best time for rain. I love the sound of rain pitter pattering on my rain fly while I'm snug, warm, and dry underneath and have nowhere to go. In the morning, the rain had stopped, although the day was still gray. We'd made camp by a trail junction, and one trail led to a brook. A sign indicated we were at the lower slides and pointed down a side trail to the upper slides. My kids were disappointed to find out that the water slides were not nature's version of a water park and that the slides were not for human use. Still, the brook provided ample entertainment, and they got right to work building stone dams and houses.

My eldest son picking blueberries. This was
actually not on our camping trip but under some
local powerlines. I neglected to take pictures
atop the mountain.

After a breakfast of sourdough pancakes and maple syrup, the older boys, dog, and I hiked up Blueberry Mountain in search of -- you guessed it -- blueberries. As I had feared, the berries had ripened early this year (everything is early this year), so the berries were scarce. We got a few, nonetheless, and our visitor got to taste his first wild blueberry (in case you haven't had wild blueberries, either, you should be forewarned that they are small, but they pack significantly more flavor than the cultivated variety. At least around here, you can buy wild Maine blueberries in the frozen-fruit section of the grocery store; this is much more labor effective but not nearly as much fun. Plus, you can't get fresh berries that way).

Blueberries growing under the power
lines. Many were not ripe.

Although we had brought our lunch and our camping stove with us to the top of the mountain, and although the light rain that had started during our ascent had stopped, and even although we had a hammock with us, we had to head back down the mountain not long after reaching the summit. The original plan had been for my husband and 2-year-old to come up with us and for the 2-year-old to nap in the hammock at the top.The little guy had elected to stay behind at camp instead, but unfortunately I realized that a certain special blanket and binkie were still in my day pack. I knew he wouldn't nap without them, so back down the mountain we went.

My 2-year-old on our hike out.

Despite the steep, rocky climb, the rain, the scarcity of blueberries, and the short summit stop, I was glad we'd made the hike because I got to taste bunchberries. I recognized them immediately from my garden, but the plants in my garden haven't made berries. These mountain plants had bright red berries in the center of six-petaled whorls of leaves.

Bunchberries in the trail.

You might recall that I found and dug up some bunchberry plants on a spring camping trip in northern NH. The plants were in flower at the time. The transplants to my garden have mostly fared well, but not well enough to fruit, so I have never tried a bunchberry. I wasn't hoping to be wowed: I'd read that the flavor is bland and uninteresting but would at least sustain a starving person in the woods. The best quality of the bunchberry seemed to be its beauty and the fact that it wouldn't give you a tummy ache if you ate significant amounts of it, as would a more flavorful berry such as blackberry or blueberry. With all this in mind, I maintained low expectations as I prepared for my first taste test.

Perhaps it's all about lowering expectations, but I enjoyed it. The berries have a single stone, which I'd read was inseparable from the fruit and thus needed to be eaten as well. I spit my seeds out -- I suppose I wasted some of the fruit this way. My middle son enjoyed his berry, too (my elder son wouldn't try one). It wasn't exciting, perhaps, but it was pleasant. My son and I both took another.

My middle son sitting by the upper slide.

I cooked dinner -- beef-jerky stew -- in the rain that night. We again slept under the sound of water falling on our rain flies. But in the morning, I opened my eyes to shafts of sunlight breaking through the trees. The day could not have been more perfect. My eldest son and I awoke before everyone else, and we headed down to the brook to retrieve our food bag, hung high in a tree away from bears. First, we decided to explore the path that led to the upper slides. After a good 15 minutes of hiking, we came upon a secluded pool, accessible only by a climb down a steep slope. Water streamed down a smooth rock face and slipped into pool almost without a splash. The pool was deep enough for swimming, and because the falling water barely disturbed the surface, we could see clearly to the rocky bottom. It was serene, magical, beautiful. Later, while I broke down camp, my husband and the four boys hiked back to the pool, with my eldest son as the guide, and I joined them with our picnic lunch once I had everything nearly packed up. Two of us (me and our 13-year-old visitor) went for a dip in the pool. Our piercing screams could be heard throughout the mountain as we discovered the water was even colder than we'd imagined, but it felt good, too.

Soon afterward we were hiking back to our car. The sun was still shining brightly, but off in the distance I thought I heard booming thunder. Then I was sure I heard booming thunder. But the sunshine persisted, and we had stunning views along the Kancamagus Highway. Later, we drove through brief but torrential downpours -- but by that time we were warm and dry and halfway home.

Picture Gallery

Here are some additional pictures from the two weeks we had our visitor with us. We went to a local farm and wildlife sanctuary, hiked a new trail near our town's water tower, and took a boat to the Boston Harbor Islands (no pictures of that appear here), among other things.