Great Gulf, New Hampshire
April
Great Gulf Wilderness at the base of Mt Washington in Gorham NH at the Peabody River (White Mountains)
The vast expanse of the Mount Washington valley changes with every season. Today even though spring has arrived on the calendar, the valley is looking somewhat dull and lifeless. Only the evergreens show color on the land. And clouds float by against the bright blue sky …and here in the mountains can darken at any moment. There are snowcaps still on the peaks with rivers of white flowing downward, marking trails to the top.
As I am welcomed into this stretch of mountains and valleys, I feel my soul moving back within reach. The old world I just came from is falling away. My mind is slowing. Quiet overwhelms me. The wilderness is offering itself to every part of me, unconditionally. I slow into its rhythm.
And now, we search for moose lumbering about looking for food in the barren woods along the road …and for bear cubs that tumble down hills being chased by their mothers. And that errant fox that once surprised us on the trail.
When the trees are naked in winter and early spring, we can see into their world. We can see beyond the broken trees and piles of dead colorless leaves. Although behind this emptiness we think we are seeing, is a rebirth and regrowth in the shadows.
We park and pay and gather our backpacks for our hike. The first since last fall.
Great Gulf Wilderness trails lead to Mt Washington, my Itu Apu. (Shaman teach about our Itu Apu Spirit who lives in the highest mountain within 100 miles of our birthplace. This mountain Spirit is our guiding star, our teacher who comes to us at birth.) This sacred place is where I return to (in person or in journey) for solace. For guidance. For blessing. For the right answers.
The trail is littered with downed birch and small beech trees (their leaves still glimmering in the light) along with drab majestic oak trees and naked stands of sugar maples. Leaves are trampled, still flattened from the feet of snow that has not quite melted. Deadfall is everywhere, giving life to the next generation. Ferns are poking through the forest floor. Mica sparkles all along the trails and in the river reflecting lost parts of my soul I am hoping to soon find.
As we approach the river, slender silver birches, shedding their skin, lean into the water. Other trees grow with their roots around boulders. Some huge trees have fallen into the river upstream and were carried down until they hit this more congested part of the river.
There is no sign of people today. Adding to the perfect stillness I am craving.
The forest feels like a massive holy cathedral. Sunlight penetrates the canopy. And the towering evergreens watch as we move among them. We are in their hallowed ground. My intuition sharpens. I am held by the Spirit of the Earth. There are messages coming in if I stop to listen and attune.
The healing waters of this west branch of the river flow from the melting snows of the Presidential Range and are icy cold, especially in the spring. And today the river’s breath rises from the water. Icy cold smoke-like magic. And the chilled air drifts over the water toward me, biting my bones.
The river rushes and splashes, silencing the forest as it continues along. It creates whitewater as it moves around rocks and jumps over felled trees. It pools in other places giving us a clear calm view of silt and pebbles and gorgeous sparkling smaller stones. It carves its way into the bigger rocks and the shoreline. Flowing and celebrating, as it surges by… with absolute freedom.
I sit and pray connecting with the Spirits of the forest and the waters. My prayers are loud today. For the earth and the sky. I pray for grace and goodness and magic. I pray to remember our essence. To be simple and present and loving. This is our medicine… the forest, the earth, simple presence. Our hearts.