Dartmouth Digital Commons (Dartmouth College)

Mullen, Kay

Appalachia 
Volume 57 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2006: Bringing the 
Journey Home 
Article 20 
2006 
A Walk in the Woods 
Kay Mullen 
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 Part of the Poetry Commons 
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Mullen, Kay (2006) "A Walk in the Woods," Appalachia: Vol. 57: No. 1, Article 20. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol57/iss1/20 
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summeR/Fall 200 53
A Walk in the Woods
More than mice and spotted beetles
vie for this darkness, these empty spaces
no eye can see into—the shade a fallen
cedar makes, its branches bent under ferns
and mouse-ear chickweed, as if leisurely
walking a treadmill of wind. Even a ring-eyed 
raccoon slumps in this lush hollow. Lichen
will never bloom here, nor the moss that clings
to alders and fiddleheads. A slant of light strikes
a quaking aspen. songs of finch and hermit thrush
drift through willows and snags of pine.
Deer nibble thistle weed, antlers steady
at the snap of a twig, the far-off bark
of a neighbor’s dog. For a moment sun
hooks on a cedar, stitching its way
into morning; the spruce blues its smallest
branches in secret; the shy tick of a fox
sparrow chooses shadows. Everything as it is.
—Kay Mullen
Kay Mullen is a retired teacher and school counselor. she received the Washington 
Poets Association William stafford Award in 2002, and recently a fellowship at the 
Vermont studio Center for writers and artists. Mullen is currently enrolled in the 
MFA program at Pacific Lutheran University. Her first book of poetry is Let Morning 
Begin. 
Appalachia_06SF.FINAL.indd   53 5/11/06   7:09:18 PM



English

A Walk in the Woods

Oliver, Mary

Appalachia 
Volume 57 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2006: Bringing the 
Journey Home 
Article 24 
2006 
Great Moth Comes from His Papery Cage 
Mary Oliver 
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 Part of the Poetry Commons 
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Oliver, Mary (2006) "Great Moth Comes from His Papery Cage," Appalachia: Vol. 57: No. 1, Article 24. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol57/iss1/24 
This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted for 
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contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
summeR/Fall 200 10
Great Moth Comes from His Papery Cage
Gone is the worm, that tunnel body. Gone is the mouth
that loved leaves and tomatoes. 
Gone are the innumerable feet. 
He is beautiful now, and shivers into the air
as if he has always known how,
who crawled and crawled, all summer. 
He has wide wings, with a flare at the bottom. 
The moon excites him. The heat of the night excites him. 
But, where did the dance come from?
surely not out of a simple winter’s sleep. 
surely it’s more than ambition, this new architecture!
What could it be, that does it?
Let me look closer, and a long time, the next time
i see green-blooded worm crawling and curling
hot day after hot day
among the leaves and the smooth, proud tomatoes. 
—Mary Oliver 
MaRy oliveR has published more than a dozen volumes of poetry, as well as works 
of imaginative prose and poetry instruction. Her most recent publication is New and 
Selected Poems: Volume Two (Beacon Press, 2005). in the spring of 2006, Beacon will 
release a CD, At Blackwater Pond: Mary Oliver Reads Mary Oliver. she is a frequent 
contributor to Appalachia.
Appalachia_06SF.FINAL.indd   109 5/11/06   7:09:53 PM



Great Moth Comes from His Papery Cage

Haynes, Douglas

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 2 Winter/Spring 2006: Winter in the 
Whites and Beyond 
Article 6 
2005 
A Light in Winter Woods 
Douglas Haynes 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
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Haynes, Douglas (2005) "A Light in Winter Woods," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 2, Article 6. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss2/6 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, please 
contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
34   aPPalachia
Skyline Sketch
A Light in Winter Woods
By Douglas Haynes
winter/sPring 200   35
The woods startled me. it was a tyPical winter aFternoon in Vermont’s northeast Kingdom: snowflakes meandering down from a 
heavy pall of clouds. i was snowshoeing over an old logging road up out of the 
valley where i live, on my way to a waterfall that tumbles over a cliff face from 
a beaver pond perched above it. Hemlocks and cedars tunneled me in, the 
contrast between their branches and the snow creating an Ansel Adams–like 
landscape of crisp blacks and whites. The stillness added to my sense that i 
was walking through a picture. no croaks from the usual ravens. not even 
the chatter of chickadees. 
 For the first time in four days the temperature had crested zero, and i had 
been inside too long. i didn’t expect to see much in the dull weather, though: 
visibility was limited to a quarter mile or so, and it had been snowing long 
enough to obscure any fresh animal tracks. The kind of day that has often 
caused me to resent winter for what i’ve perceived as its lack of natural variety. 
 When i reached the falls, i was grateful for the rush of water, though the 
stream was hidden beneath a gray layer of ice. More than a trickle, not quite a 
roar. The company of sound on an afternoon so quiet was almost oppressive. 
And then it started: an electric glow hovered over the slope by the falls like the 
orange patina of city lights on a low, overcast sky at night. i looked to the west 
to see if the sun might be peeking through the clouds as it sometimes does just 
before setting. But there wasn’t the slightest break in the clouds above the west-
ern rim of the valley. And no city could cast its lights so close to the ground. 
The underbrush continued to glow, a warm being amidst the lifeless woods.  
 Having grown up in rolling, open country cropped with corn and soy-
beans, i am not yet accustomed to the constantly changing perspectives that 
come with walking the steep, wooded slopes of northern Vermont. After 
living here two years, i still feel as if my eyes have to be reinvented every day 
to discern the subtleties of the forest close at hand and the shifting forms of 
the middle distance. i only need to go a few hundred yards from my house in 
any direction to see entirely different prospects: mountains hide or appear, a 
lake glistens or goes completely black. 
 Guessing that a new perspective might unravel the mystery of the glow-
ing, i shuffled 10 feet up the path past the falls. As i moved, the blurry color 
ebbed into the distinct, bronze leaves of a cluster of young beech trees. i 
felt silly. From where i stood before, the leaves were undifferentiated, just a 
brightness suspended in the otherwise darkening woods. once i knew the 
Opposite: Winter forest scene near Tuckerman Ravine. Photo by Jerry aNd marcy moNKmaN
3   aPPalachia
source of that color, i could no longer see it as a presence. The enigma of the 
whole had dissolved into knowable parts. 
 But that only strengthened the significance of the glowing i saw before. i 
have never seen the winter woods here the same way again. That afternoon, 
when the land seemed spiritless and uniform, the beeches’ propensity for 
holding their leaves through the coldest days of the year became an emblem 
of winter’s aesthetic possibilities. And i realized that we all have our beeches: 
unexpected visions of the land that awake us to ways of becoming more at 
home in our places. We shouldn’t feel ashamed if our eyes are untrained; their 
tricks can remind us that — even in the deepest throes of winter — the land is 
a reservoir of warm surprises. The longer i live in these woods, the more my 
senses evolve with them. The more i expect to be startled again.  
Douglas Haynes is a poet, freelance writer, and translator, whose work has ap-
peared in Orion Online, Birding, and many other publications. Currently in exile 
from Vermont’s northeast Kingdom, he lives in Lebanon, new Hampshire.
Snow shadows on a northern hardwood forest.
P
h
o
to
 b
y
 J
e
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r
y
 a
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d
 m
a
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c
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o
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K
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a
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A Light in Winter Woods

Sherwonit, Bill

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 2 Winter/Spring 2006: Winter in the 
Whites and Beyond 
Article 9 
2005 
Aurora Lights Up the Denali Sky 
Bill Sherwonit 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
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Sherwonit, Bill (2005) "Aurora Lights Up the Denali Sky," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 2, Article 9. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss2/9 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
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contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
54   aPPalachia
Aurora Lights Up  
the Denali Sky
By Bill Sherwonit
winter/sPring 200   55
Northern Lights, Denali National Park, Alaska. Photo by JohNNy JohNSoN/alaSKaStocK.com.
on the cusP oF winter, i’ve traveled north From Anchorage to spend a week in Denali national Park. i spend my days exploring the 
park’s northern foothills and my nights in a log cabin along its eastern edge. 
Every evening, before retiring, i check the sky. Denali isn’t widely known for 
its beautiful night skies simply because most people visit in summer, when 
the sky never fully darkens. But local residents know, and i have learned first-
hand in recent years, that for eight or nine months of every twelve, many of 
the park’s most inspiring spectacles are to be found overhead. 
 What grabs a sky-gazer’s attention on most of these clear, dark nights 
are the sparkling stars, the familiar constellations, the Milky Way band. on 
moonless nights, the ink-black sky grows vibrantly alive with uncountable 
numbers of sparkling stars. With no urban glare to dim their intensity, they 
blink brightly, wildly, like Christmas tree lights or fireflies. occasionally, how-
ever, Denali’s night sky holds other luminous mysteries.
 one evening toward the end of my stay, it is moonless and clear, filled 
with sparkling stars and the faintest trace of northern lights. i watch a while, 
hoping for an auroral burst, but the lights fade and i head to bed.
 Hours later i awaken from a restless sleep. Remembering the earlier dis-
play i stumble, blurry-eyed, to a large picture window that faces west. Just 
above the darkened Alaska Range foothills, a pale, green band arches gently 
across the sky, like a flattened rainbow. The arc seems to be flickering but at 
first i’m not sure if it’s the aurora borealis or my eyes. i rub them and watch 
more intently. now there’s no question: the band is slowly wavering. This 
goes on for five or ten minutes. Then the aurora explodes and fills the whole 
western sky. Bright green curtains of northern lights, tinged pink along their 
edges, ripple wildly above the hills. i’ve seen northern lights many times, but 
i am shocked by the deep, flashing brilliance of these.
 The bright curtains abruptly vanish, leaving as suddenly and mysteriously 
as they first appeared, but faint patches and bands remain. Paler than the 
original green arc, they nearly disappear, then grow more intense. now they 
are shimmering and jumping around the sky. My mind tries to put words to 
what i’m seeing, to make them more comprehensible.
 The lights shimmer, flicker, pulsate. They ripple, explode, undulate. At 
times they are the embers of a heavenly fire, flickering on and off. At other 
times they are flames, leaping across the sky. There are moments when they 
remind me of exploding fireworks. An electric arc. Cannon fire. or psyche-
5   aPPalachia
delic lights, of the kind used in discos. now they are rippling waves that ap-
pear at the horizon and move across an oceanic sky. They are the shimmer of 
sunlight on a river or a lightly rippled lake.
 These northern lights hypnotize me in a way that few others have. i lose 
track of time. How long have i watched? An hour? Two? i recently finished 
John Muir’s Travels in Alaska, which includes a chapter on the aurora. never 
one to avoid discomfort — or an adventure — Muir in 1890 witnessed an 
unusually dramatic aurora borealis display in southeast Alaska: “Losing all 
thought of sleep, i ran back to my cabin, carried out blankets, and lay down 
on the (glacial) moraine to keep watch until daybreak, that none of the sky 
wonders of the glorious night within reach of my eyes might be lost.”
 i too think about going outside. But the view is good from here and i 
don’t wish to pile on clothes or watch the sky in 20-degree cold. i’m content 
to sit inside, with bare feet, short-sleeve shirt, and sweatpants. i lean against 
the window for several minutes at a time; when shoulder and upper back 
muscles stiffen, i move to a nearby armchair.
 i tell myself to simply sit and watch and appreciate the aurora. no descrip-
tion, no analysis. it’s hard to do. Words and images keep coming to mind. i 
think about the origins of northern lights and the science that explains them. 
Researchers tell us that these auroral apparitions are atmospheric phenomena, 
produced when a stream of charged particles from the sun, known as the solar 
wind, intersects the Earth’s magnetic field. While most of the solar particles 
are deflected, some filter down into the planet’s upper atmosphere, where 
they collide with gas molecules such as nitrogen and oxygen. The resulting 
reactions produce glowing colors. The aurora most commonly is pale green, 
but at times its borders are tinged with pink, purple, or red. Especially rare 
is the all-red aurora, which appears when charged solar particles collide with 
high-altitude oxygen. The science is complex and difficult to comprehend, 
but the results are pure beauty.
 i appreciate the insights that scientists have gained in recent years and 
their improved ability to predict auroral events. our Anchorage newspaper 
presents nightly auroral forecasts and directs readers to an aurora website. 
But on a night like this, with wild fiery lights burning across the Denali sky, 
i eventually — perhaps inevitably — choose rhapsody over rational thought, 
poetry over physical phenomena. These lights hint of forces larger than we 
can imagine, of worlds beyond our physical one.
 in my watching, i begin to see a rhythm in the flashing, flickering, shim-
mering lights. or at least i imagine one. i can also imagine why the peoples 
winter/sPring 200   5
of so many northern cultures have created myths to explain the aurora. The 
lights take on a life, an energy, of their own. What began as patches, arcs, 
bands, curtains, and spirals has been transformed. now the lights are wispy, 
vaporous, human-like figures in the sky, drumming and dancing and singing. 
At other times, lights exploding along the horizon are the traces of distant 
battles.
 The lights are still flashing and pulsating when i return to bed. While i 
don’t have Muir’s all-night stamina, like him more than a century ago i’ve 
been touched in unforgettable ways by the “sky wonders” of a glorious north-
ern night. shining beacons, they urge me to pay attention to the wildness 
and mystery that surrounds me — both here in Denali and back home in 
Anchorage — and also lives inside me.
Bill sherwonit, a nature writer and resident of Anchorage since 1982, is the au-
thor of ten books about Alaska. His website is www.billsherwonit.alaskawriters.com.



Aurora Lights Up the Denali Sky

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 2 Winter/Spring 2006: Winter in the 
Whites and Beyond 
Article 15 
2005 
Letters 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia 
 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
(2005) "Letters," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 2, Article 15. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss2/15 
This In Every Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been 
accepted for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, 
please contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
102   aPPalachia
Letters
Dear Editor,
i enjoy Appalachia so much! And your delightful piece about isle au Haut 
reminded me that my grandparents were from Maine and had sometimes 
spoken of “Eel-uh-hoe.” i don’t know if they’d ever been there or just knew 
people who had.
 i also note that i recently reread, with pleasure, a book on my shelves, Here 
on the Island, by Charles Pratt (Harper and Row, new York, 1974.) You may 
well know of it.
 i’m a happy life member of AMC. Most of my involvement has been 
open-boat whitewater canoeing.
 With thanks for much good reading.
 — Charles B. Woodbury
Lexington, Massachusetts
Dear Editor,
The [spring/summer] issue of Appalachia arrived at this outpost of civiliza-
tion, and i dropped everything to read that issue, as i am an old Katahdin 
lover. Many years ago, i lived in Rhode island, and i chaired the narragansett 
AMC Chapter and did rock work for many years.
 in younger days, there were four of us who formed our own mountain 
club and went by the name of Palpitating Pups. We made trips winter and 
summer, though never all of us together — usually only three on each trip.
 in 1932, we were in Maine, at Chimney Pond on Katahdin. it was our sec-
ond expedition to that mountain. Roy Dudley, the game warden in residence, 
had cut a tree to use as a flagpole. on July 23, we took the Parsons Trail to the 
foot of saddle slide, picked up the tree, and carried it back to Chimney Pond. 
We took the bark off, and after Roy had fixed a small pulley, we set the pole 
in place.
 After that trip, at the usual reading of our club log, we pooled our funds 
(Depression days were over, but money was still tight) and bought a gold ball, 
which we sent to Roy and friends. For some years after, they told us the pole 
and ball were still in place.
winter/sPring 200   103
 Roy had a young son, about ten in 1932. He offered to split some wood 
for us to use in the pit for cooking. After watching him split the first piece, 
though, we suggested he not do any more. We had watched him put the short 
log on the ground, and with his bare feet holding the log in place, swing a 
full-size axe down between his feet. He would have preferred to continue, but 
we politely said, “no.”
 A great issue. Keep the faith!
 — Richmond A. Day
Grand Forks, North Dakota 
Dear Editor,
The summer/Fall 2005 issue of Appalachia, including my profile of Baxter 
state Park director Buzz Caverly, emerged the same week Buzz retired from 
his career-long job, the one he had told me he wasn’t ready to leave any time 
soon. When i spent a day in the park with Buzz and his wife, Jan, in october 
2004, he said that he felt his career was half over, even though he had reached 
age 65. That is why my article makes the claim that he had no plans to re-
tire. Eight months later, in June 2005, he surprised his staff — and me — by 
changing his mind. By the end of that month, he had left “the best job in 
state government.”
 in late July, i spent five days backpacking in Baxter. Rangers and gate 
keepers told me that they had been surprised, and yet not entirely surprised, 
at Caverly’s quick and decisive move to retire.
 “My plan was to work until i was 70,” Caverly told me when i called his 
house in Corinth, Maine. But practical and health considerations came up 
suddenly. “i decided it would be good for the park if i moved on.”
 He said that he and his wife (who herself worked long years at Baxter) 
have done some traveling, but that they also are enjoying the novelty of stay-
ing put in their house on ten acres, which he calls a mini–Baxter state Park. 
He admitted that he misses the real Baxter. “There’s not a day that goes by 
when i don’t think about going up there and taking care of something,” he 
said. “And then i remember it’s not my responsibility any more.”
  Buzz told me he and Jan want to thank the many associates and friends 
they met through Baxter state Park. “We wish all of those people the very best 
of luck and ‘Happy trails’ forever.”
 — Christine Woodside
Deep River, Connecticut



Letters

News and Notes

Appalachia Summer/Fall 2005: Complete Issue

Stott, Sandy

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2005: The State of 
Maine 
Article 11 
2005 
Black Bears: Beyond the Myth 
Sandy Stott 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
Stott, Sandy (2005) "Black Bears: Beyond the Myth," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 1, Article 11. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss1/11 
This In This Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been accepted 
for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, please 
contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
Black Bears
Beyond the Myths
By Sandy Stott
On a weekday night in 2002, Lynn Rogers — a.k.a the Bearman— spoke and showed slides in the Concord Academy Chapel in Con-
cord, Massachusetts. The chapel’s deep, many-paned windows were patterned
with waving leaves, as Rogers projected slide after slide of known bears on a
large screen. “That’s Blackheart,” Rogers said, and he followed the introduc-
tion with the sort of anecdote that might define my cousin Tony or your
Aunt Pauline. From his uncommon perspective as “the man who walks with
bears,” Rogers sought to show his audience how it is possible to live with
bears as neighbors, even though most of us, of course, don’t intentionally
move into neighborhoods that feature fur-cloaked, 300-pound residents,
whose claws and teeth dwarf our own. 
Rogers explained that black bears co-evolved with a set of overwhelming
predators back before the recent ice age; only the most timid lived to pass on
their genes. So what we have in our mountains and forests and, occasionally,
in our subdivisions is a large mammal who has learned flight and climbing as
the best ways to deal with confrontation. In thirty years of walking in bear
territory and even crawling into dens, Rogers said he has been bitten only
once. That bite was on his hand, and he got it when he tried to hold onto a
bear who was straining to run away.
Perhaps aware that there were now a growing number in the room who
might soon seek their own close encounters, Rogers cautioned that, as with
all things wild, it is best to be guided by respect for a bear’s strength and
needs. A slide featuring a close-up of a curled upper lip and finger-length in-
cisors dropped into the projector. As a breeze rippled the screen and the bear
face seemed to shift forward, a few people in the front row leaned back invol-
untarily. Rogers was matter-of-fact. Much of what could be seen as aggressive
72 Appalachia
Opposite: A black bear stands on its haunches for a better peak across a meadow.
Photo by Duane Cross
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 72
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 73
behavior, he said, is in fact
just bearish nervousness in
the presence of humans, a
skittishness that can lead to
pawing the ground and swat-
ting the air or to snarls that
play upon the mythology of a
savage wilderness full of man-
eaters. Rogers said that even
when he has tested the bonds
of fierce maternity and lifted
cubs from their mothers, he
has seen no real charging. 
Rogers himself is some-
what ursine, a tall, stout man
who walks slowly and with a
wide gait, and who speaks an
unadorned language com-
posed of words tied closely to
the facts of an outdoor life. As
is often true of those who
have given over their lives to
an animal’s cause, Rogers is
himself a life force, brimming
with energy, as if he has a direct current from the sun. Born in 1939 in Grand
Rapids, Michigan, he came to his life’s work early, graduating from Grand
Rapids Junior College in 1959 and landing a first job as a research aid to a
wildlife biologist with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Re-
leased from the classroom to the woods, Rogers found bears. Gradually, he
also found freedom from the fairy tales and myths that reduce bears to a
howling threat of the wild. In time, bears became family. Rogers went on to
gain a master’s degree and Ph.D. from the University of Minnesota and
launched his career as a wildlife research biologist with the Research Field In-
stitute in Ely, Minnesota.
Writing in response to Rogers’s early research on black bears, Harvard Uni-
versity’s eminent entomologist E.O. Wilson hailed the study (which is still
ongoing) as one of the world’s four major wildlife studies. Wilson wrote, “A
new level of resolution has been attained, in which free-ranging individuals
74 Appalachia
A young black bear explores the woods after living
its first few months in hibernation with mother.
Ph
ot
o 
co
ur
te
sy
 o
f 
AM
C
 P
ho
to
 L
ib
ra
ry
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 74
are tracked from birth through socialization, parturition and death, and their
idiosyncrasies, personal alliances and ecological relationships recorded in
clinical detail.”
Idiosyncrasies only surface over time. One particular slide in Rogers’s
show drew oohs and ahs and not a little envy from the audience. There was
Rogers, leaning backwards easily against a leafy bank, a broad smile creasing
his face. Next to him, perhaps a foot away, sat his companion, more stoic in
expression but equally at ease. Rogers’s stories soon lent the massive black
bear (Rogers said a recent weigh-in had found him just south of 500 pounds)
a comfortable persona common to all neighborly creatures. As the story of
Rogers’ lengthy relationship with this bear unfurled, a man in one of the front
pews leaned over to his neighbor and said, “I wonder what naming bears
would do to hunters?” The other man nodded and turned back to the screen. 
When the lights came up, the thin stick figures of the human spectators
seemed fragile and undernourished beside the still vivid images of bulky bodies
and thick arms. We milled about, unwilling to leave. It seemed as if we might
be waiting for the next act—perhaps the appearance of one of Rogers’s bears,
his face wavy in a window pane. A small knot of people surrounded Rogers,
his white head rising above theirs, an affable, half-shy smile on his face. 
“What I need,” said one man with a collar of hair spilling over his tee-
shirt, “is a long sleep. Perhaps after another meal,” he added, and he turned
and waddled out into a night as dark as fur.
SANDY STOTT lives in Concord, Massachusetts and Brunswick, Maine. He is an
English teacher and Dean of Faculty at Concord Academy and was Appalachia’s edi-
tor from 1989 through 1999.
Summer/Fall 2005   75
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 75



Black Bears: Beyond the Myth

Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2005: The State of 
Maine 
Article 15 
2005 
Letters 
Follow this and additional works at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia 
 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
(2005) "Letters," Appalachia: Vol. 56: No. 1, Article 15. 
Available at: https://digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu/appalachia/vol56/iss1/15 
This In Every Issue is brought to you for free and open access by Dartmouth Digital Commons. It has been 
accepted for inclusion in Appalachia by an authorized editor of Dartmouth Digital Commons. For more information, 
please contact dartmouthdigitalcommons@groups.dartmouth.edu. 
Letters
Dear Editor,
Mohamed Ellozy’s introduction to the Winter/Spring, 2005, “Accidents” sec-
tion contains a welcome endorsement of my book, Don’t Die on the Mountain.
On page 121, Ellozy refers to “. . . Dan Allen’s rule that ‘decisions often make
the difference between life and death.’” Your readers might be interested to
know that Guy Waterman commented that the first edition of Don’t Die on
the Mountain failed to address something more important than discussion of
equipment and conditions: the importance of decisions. I would credit Guy
Waterman’s observation rather than Dan Allen’s rule. And I would support
Ellozy’s emphasis on decisions. Decisions come first in my book.
In addition, on page 130, there is a reference to my exhortation, “There is
no substitute for an early start,” which is repeated prominently in my book
seven times. After reviewing drafts of the second edition, Guy told me he
thought this idea needed to be included—and emphasized.
—Dan Allen, New London, NH
Dear Editor,
Below are a few of the most disturbing inaccuracies in the article entitled:
“Mountain Search and Rescue: Case Studies in Hapless Humor” (Appalachia,
Summer/Fall 2004). It is my understanding that the article was meant to be
funny or to point out how things can go wrong. I would like to take this op-
portunity to clarify a few inaccuracies. I was involved in carrying up the litter
on this accident, and I was witness to the exchange between the Fish and
Game officer and those who were hiking out. First: “. . . the omnipresent cell
phone. . . .” The cell phone was carried as a tool, that could save time if it
worked. The leader was able to make contact with the program director and
relay important information. At the time conditions were cold, wet, late in
the day and the group had already hiked a good distance. Sending out people
would have been potentially unsafe. By using the phone he was able to avoid
putting anyone else at risk. The first rule in any SAR operation is “don’t make
more victims.”
Second: “The next morning, the group called again and insisted on a res-
cue.” The rescue had been coordinated the night before and arrangements
90 Appalachia
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Summer/Fall 2005   91
had already been made for a litter carry. The phrase implies there were other
options that were available to the group and the group refused to use them. A
carry-out, to all involved, seemed to be the only safe course of action.
Next: “. . . some of the participants and one of the leaders decided they
had had enough.” The participants who were hiking out were in no condi-
tion to aid in a litter carry. They would have been a liability. They had a large
portion of the group gear to free up weight for those carrying the litter.
Also: “. . . leaving the injured person and a few others behind.” Only two
out of the group hiked out with the leader, leaving a total of seven people to
assist in the carry. Those left behind were the most fit with the highest level
of medical training in the group.
And: “. . . no uncertain language. . . .” Instead of calmly taking the leader
aside and trying to make his point, the officer chose to use very strong lan-
guage in front of the group. I was witness to a portion of the conversation. As
far as “. . . the Fish and Game officer turned these hikers around,” the group
did not turn around. After the course director arrived and intervened and ne-
gotiated a compromise, the leader brought the weaker members of the group
safely to the parking lot, and then turned around and hiked back in to the
shelter and assisted in the carry-out. As far as conducting a self-rescue is con-
cerned, there was no way the group, with the resources at their disposal,
could have done one because the injured hiker had a potential spinal injury.
They could not clear the spine in the field.
And finally: “. . . instead of spending the weekend home with his family.”
If the officer has a problem working on a weekend maybe he should find a
different line of work. Unfortunately, we can not have accidents only on
weekdays from 9 to 5. We on SAR teams expect to sacrifice time with family
to help others. It just comes with the territory. In fairness, I am told this re-
mark was made by the author and not by the F&G officer. I include it in my
rebuttal because the comment was part of the article and my issue is prima-
rily with the article and the way the situation was misrepresented. 
—Bryan Courtois, Saco, Maine
Bryan Courtois is a Registered Maine Guide, a Wilderness First Responder, and a
member of a local Search and Rescue team.
Editor’s Note: The author of the article and the Fish and Game officer involved
respect Mr. Courtois’ right to express his interpretation of events. They have a dif-
ferent view of those events, as noted in the story.
Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 91



Appalachia 
Volume 56 
Number 1 Summer/Fall 2005: The State of 
Maine 
Article 18 
2005 
News and Notes 
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 Part of the Nonfiction Commons 
Recommended Citation 
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News and Notes
Forest Fire Burns 139 Acres on WMNF. A forest fire of undetermined origin
burned 139 acres last November on the slopes of Little Attitash Mountain in
the town of Bartlett. It was thought to be the largest fire ever on land man-
aged by the White Mountain National Forest (WMNF), although it paled in
comparison to the many thousands of acres that burned in the White Moun-
tains in 1886, 1903, and 1907, before the National Forest was created.
Smoke was first spotted on Sunday, November 14, rising from the ravine
of Lucy Brook between North Moat and Little Attitash Mountains. It was
soon determined that the fire was located on the wooded southeast-facing
slope of Little Attitash, north of the brook and the Moat Mountain Trail.
Firefighters from the WMNF Saco Ranger District and the towns of Bartlett,
Glen and North Conway responded, under the direction of WMNF Incident
Commander Ron Shorey. That night the ground fire spread farther up the
slope, fueled by 20 mph winds and an abundance of dry leaves and branches
on the forest floor.
As the fire continued to burn, smoke spread out across the Mount Wash-
ington valley. A crew of about two dozen Forest Service firefighters battled
the blaze for the next several days. Among the primary tools used were heavy-
duty leaf blowers, powered by gasoline-fired chainsaw motors. Carrying leaf
blowers on their backs, the firefighters drove back dry leaves away from the
edge of the fire. Other firefighters used rakes, shovels, and chainsaws to help
clear a fire line. 
By Monday 120 acres had burned, and an additional 20 acres had been
scorched by Tuesday morning. That day the management of the fire was
turned over to WMNF Fire Manager Dave Govatski. Reconnaissance assis-
tance was provided by JBI Helicopter Company of Pembroke, NH, whose
pilot relayed information about the extent of the fire. The perimeter contain-
ment was completed by the end of the day on Wednesday, November 17. A
smaller crew continued to monitor the area through Saturday, November 20.
Throughout its duration, the fire was primarily on the ground, and thanks to
the firefighters’ efforts it did not develop into a more destructive crown fire.
For the most part, the flames were two feet or less in height.
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Hiking columnist Ed Parsons visited the fire site a couple of weeks later
and reported that the area had the look of a controlled burn. It was mostly
leaves and dead branches that had burned, while the duff on the forest floor
was largely intact. Other than some blackening around the base of their
trunks, the standing trees of the forest showed little damage from the fire.
Govatski, a noted authority on the history of the White Mountains, be-
lieves this was the largest fire in the National Forest since it was created in
1911. (The 1912–1914 fires in the Rocky Branch valley and the 1923 fire near
Flat Mountain Pond in the Sandwich Range were much larger, but those ar-
eas were not yet part of the National Forest.) “It’s highly unusual for us to
have a fire of this size,” said Govatski.
The exemplary fire record of the WMNF can be attributed to careful
management practices (in contrast to the rampant clearcutting and careless
slash disposal of the early timber barons) and to the damp climate that makes
the New England woods much less susceptible to fire than those of the arid
West, leading some to dub New England’s the “asbestos forests.”
The last sizeable forest fire on the WMNF was on Table Mountain (also
in Bartlett) in October 1984, which burned over 100 acres and took 6 days to
contain. The prominent scar left by this blaze can be seen from the Kanca-
magus Highway. A series of small fires plagued the region during the sum-
mers of 2001 and 2002, but none was more than a few acres in area. For a
history of earlier fires in the White Mountains, see “Fire in the White Moun-
tains: An Historical Perspective,” by Christine L. Goodale in Appalachia,
Winter/Spring 2004.
Sources: Conway Daily Sun, Conway, NH (Ed Parsons); The Mountain
Ear, Conway, NH (Tom Eastman); The Courier, Littleton, NH (Mike
Dickerman); The Union Leader, Manchester, NH (Lorna Colquhoun); Dave
Govatski, WMNF Fire Manager.
Hiker Makes Documentary Film on Climbing the 4,000-Footers. John
Lacroix, a twenty-three-year old student at Hesser College, has created an
hour-long film about climbing the forty-eight 4,000-foot peaks in the White
Mountains. Entitled 48: A White Mountain Documentary Film, the pro-
duction chronicles Lacroix’s personal hiking odyssey and also includes inter-
views with a number of notable peakbaggers: George Fitch, one of two
teenage brothers who set the original “speed-hiking” record for the 4,000-
footers in 1973; Tim Seaver, the current speed-hike record holder; AMC
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Four-Thousand Footer Committee members Deane Morrison and Mike
Dickerman; and recent finisher U.S. Congressman Jeb Bradley. Also making
an appearance is Brutus Rooney, the 150-pound Newfoundland who in 2004
became the first canine to complete the 4000-footers in winter.
The movie was unveiled at a January screening in New Hampshire and
has since been shown at various other New England locations. Lacroix, who
goes by the trail name of “Sherpa John,” has also made the film available on
DVD, with all proceeds from sales going to the American Diabetes Research
Fund through the non-profit “Team Sherpa” organization. Lacroix’s fiancée
and hiking partner, Sarah Chretien, is a Type 1 diabetic and is herself closing
in on completing the 4,000-footer list. The couple were engaged on the sum-
mit of Lacroix’s last 4,000-footer. For more information on the film, visit
www.48movie.com.
Centennial of “Climb to the Clouds.” Billed as the “Nation’s Oldest Mo-
torsports Event,” the “Climb to the Clouds” race on the Mount Washington
Auto Road celebrated its centennial last July. A highlight of the four-day
event was a vintage car ascent to the halfway mark on the Auto Road. Among
the vintage autos was a Ford Special known as the “Old Gray Mare,” which
won the race in then-record time back in 1938. Driven by Sandy Leith of
Dedham, MA, the recently restored Ford Special posted times of 6:04.34 (six
minutes, four seconds, and thirty-four hundredths) and 8:25.37 on two runs
to the halfway point of the eight-mile Auto Road. The record for the full
course was set in 1998 by Frank Sprongl of Canada in an Audi Quattro,
which ascended the mountain in 6:41.99. The course speed record of 113 mph
is owned by Vermont driver Jerry Driscoll in his Homebuilt Modified.
Source: The Mountain Ear, Conway, NH
Alpine Stewardship News. At its annual dinner, The Guy Waterman Alpine
Stewardship Fund presented Dr. Edwin “Ketch” Ketchledge with its 2004
Alpine Steward Award. For over four decades, Ketchledge, a retired botany
professor at the State University of New York, has advanced the ecological
understanding of alpine plant communities in the Adirondacks and other
northeastern mountains. In the 1960s and 70s, he led the effort to restore
heavily damaged alpine plant communities in the Adirondack High Peaks.
He was also instrumental in establishing the Adirondack Summit Steward-
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Appalachia.Sum05.all.final  5/18/05  2:57 PM  Page 128
ship Program. His enormous influence has extended to alpine restoration ef-
forts on the Franconia and Presidential Ranges in the White Mountains.
In 2003, the first Alpine Steward Award was given to Roger Collins in
recognition of his more than three decades of mountain stewardship as
Supervisory Forest Technician on the Ammonoosuc/Pemigewasset Ranger
District on the WMNF. 
Last June, alpine managers, researchers and volunteers from across the
Northeast met at the AMC’s Highland Center at Crawford Notch for the bi-
annual Northeastern Alpine Stewardship Gathering. Co-sponsored by the
Waterman Fund, the AMC, the White Mountain National Forest, and the
Appalachian Trail Conference, the conference gave participants from a num-
ber of agencies and organizations a chance to share knowledge, science, expe-
rience, and management tools for the region’s alpine ecosystems.
In 2004 the Waterman Fund also provided funding for:
• An alpine photo-monitoring project conducted by the Adirondack
Mountain Club in partnership with The Adirondack Nature Conser-
vancy and the Department of Environmental Conservation. This proj-
ect will assess how affected alpine areas are faring in the wake of various
types of stewardship efforts. It follows up on photo-monitoring work
done by Dr. Ketchledge and the ADK in each decade since the 1960s. 
• An alpine outreach program run by the Green Mountain Club, designed
to teach school and camp trip leaders techniques to manage the impact
of groups traveling in the Green Mountains. The grant will help cover
the expense of hiring a group outreach coordinator. 
The Waterman Fund honors the memory of the late Guy Waterman, who
with his wife Laura practiced wilderness stewardship in the northeastern
mountains for many years, and who shared that message with countless other
mountain lovers through writings and personal contact on the trail. The
Fund’s objective is “to strengthen the human stewardship of the open sum-
mits, exposed ridgelines, and alpine areas of the Northeast.” For more infor-
mation, visit www.watermanfund.org.
Sources: The Alpine Steward (Waterman Fund newsletter), available online
at www.watermanfund.org.
Land Protected at Base of Presidentials. Two adjacent projects have pro-
tected a significant acreage of private land in the Moose River valley at the
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northern base of Mount Madison in the Presidential Range. The Moose
River Project, coordinated by the Trust for Public Land (TPL), conserved 245
acres of forest and wetland, including a mile of frontage along the river and
an 11,500-year-old archaeological site that has yielded Paleo-Indian artifacts.
The tract is comprised of three separate parcels that will remain in private
ownership and will be managed for wildlife under conservation easements.
The land will remain open for public recreational use and is accessible via the
Presidential Range Rail Trail, which runs alongside beaver ponds, wetlands,
lowland spruce-fir forest, and river overflow channels. Funding was provided
by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service State Wildlife Grant Program, New
Hampshire’s LCHIP program, and local donors. 
The Penney family, stewards of the Broadacres Farm in Randolph
through six generations, have donated a conservation easement on 158 acres
of forestland on the northern flank of Mt. Madison to the Society for the
Protection of New Hampshire Forests (SPNHF). The lower parts of the
Howker Ridge Trail and the Randolph Path run through the parcel, as does
Bumpus Brook (named for early settler Silas Bumpus). Stairs Fall and the
small gorge known as Devil’s Kitchen are scenic highlights along this stretch
of the Howker Ridge Trail. The easement also protects frontage on Route 2
and a field with a fine view of the Northern Presidentials. Support for trans-
action costs was provided by the Randolph Foundation. A ceremony was
held last fall in a field near the Pinkham B Road to celebrate the completion
of the two land conservation projects.
Sources: The Courier, Littleton, NH (Edith Tucker); SPNHF’s Forest
Notes (Lois R. Shea)
Pondicherry Wildlife Refuge Further Expanded. The Pondicherry Na-
tional Wildlife Refuge, noted as one of the outstanding wildlife areas in New
Hampshire, was expanded to 4,300 acres last fall with the addition of a new
615-acre parcel. Located in the towns of Jefferson and Whitefield on the
northern edge of the White Mountains, Pondicherry is a unit of the Sylvio
O. Conte National Fish and Wildlife Refuge. It is jointly managed by the
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the Audubon Society of New Hampshire, and
the New Hampshire Fish and Game Department. 
The refuge is renowned for its variety of wetlands, highlighted by Cherry
and Little Cherry Ponds, and its diversity of bird life, with 230 species
recorded and 125 species confirmed as breeding. Pondicherry has been desig-
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nated as a National Natural Landmark and as the first Important Bird Area in
the state.
The new acreage, located just south of Cherry Pond and adjacent to the
Presidential Range Rail Trail, features a large black ash swamp, extensive low-
land spruce-fir forest, over 35 acres of narrowleaf cattail marsh, and parts of
several small streams that drain into Cherry Pond. These wetlands are impor-
tant breeding sites for ducks, herons, rails, snipe, woodcock, and other birds. 
The purchase of the parcel from a private landowner for $307,720 was
funded by “duck stamps.” Officially known as Migratory Bird Hunting and
Conservation Stamps, these are issued annually on July 1 and are available for
$15 at U.S. Post Offices. They are purchased by waterfowl hunters, birders,
conservationists, and stamp collectors. Ninety-eight percent of the money
goes towards wetlands acquisition. Since 1934, nearly $700 million has been
raised through duck stamps and over 5 million acres of wetlands have been
purchased for national wildlife refuges.
A comprehensive conservation plan is being developed for the refuge, in-
cluding additional hiking trails and overlooks. The current trails to Cherry
Pond and Little Cherry Pond are described in the AMC White Mountain
Guide. 
Source: Littleton, NH Courier (Edith Tucker)
Lincoln Woods Trail Washed Out. Two heavy rainstorms combined to
wash out a section of the popular Lincoln Woods Trail late last fall. Located
on the bed of the East Branch & Lincoln logging railroad (1892-1948), this
route serves as the gateway to the Pemigewasset Wilderness and is frequently
used throughout the year. The heavy rainfall caused a stream that flows under
the trail about one-half mile in from the trailhead to overflow a culvert. The
result was a gap in the trail about twenty feet wide with a sizeable brook run-
ning through it. The trail was officially closed for about two weeks until
equipment could be brought in to make repairs.
Source: Courier, Littleton, NH (Mike Dickerman)
South End of Moat Mountain Trail Relocated. Last summer and fall a For-
est Service trail crew built a major relocation at the south end of the Moat
Mountain Trail near Conway, NH. The original trailhead on Passaconaway
(Dugway) Road had limited parking and the lower part of the trail crossed
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private land past several homes. The new trailhead, with an off-road parking
area, is located on White Mountain National Forest land about one-half mile
farther west on Passaconaway Road. The well-constructed new section of trail
traverses northeast across the lower slope of South Moat Mountain, crossing
Dry Brook on a thirty-foot bridge. A small excavator was used to create a
wide, erosion-resistant treadway for the undulating, sidehill route. Work was
completed in October and the new segment of trail opened in November.
The relocation has added about one-half mile to the length of the Moat
Mountain Trail.
Source: Conway Daily Sun, Conway, NH (Ed Parsons)
New Hampshire Congressman Bags 4,000-Footers. Shortly after winning
re-election last November, U.S. Representative Jeb Bradley (R-NH) completed
his climbs of the forty-eight 4,000-foot peaks in the White Mountains. On
November 6, 2004, a cold and wintry day with a light coating of snow on the
ground, he hiked to the summit of 4,100-foot Cannon Mountain in Franco-
nia Notch, accompanied by family, friends, and AMC members and staff.
During the ascent, Bradley, who has a solid pro-environment voting record,
participated in the AMC’s Visibility Volunteers (Viz Vol) ozone-monitoring
program. On the summit, AMC Executive Director Andy Falender pre-
sented Bradley with the 4,000-Footer Club’s certificate and patch. He did
not officially become a member until completing his descent of the moun-
tain on foot—he had climbed Cannon once before but had ridden back to
the bottom on the tramway. Bradley noted that he has been hiking since he
was ten or eleven years old, and has also hiked in the Himalayas. Other New
Hampshire notables who completed the White Mountain 4,000-footers in-
clude the late Meldrim Thomson, governor of New Hampshire in the late
1970s, and current U.S. Supreme Court justice David Souter. 
Sources: Associated Press, AMC Outdoors
—Steve Smith
“News and Notes” Editor
132 Appalachia
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