The alarm sings while the moon still sits high in the sky, almost as bright as the sun. I swing out of bed, still a little groggy but quickly becoming alert with the excitement of the exertion to come, and I'm led downstairs by the glow of the kitchen light. I grab a cool glass of water while the smell of coffee pervades my senses, and I wait for the drip, drip, drip to cease so I can satisfy my vice and get my daily caffeine fix. My husband is stuffing his pack with water, apples, oranges, and an extra coat and sets it to wait patiently by the door. I tread back upstairs, pull my hair back, and set myself to the task of dressing warm - it's below freezing outside, the sun has yet to rise, and we'll be out there in the darkness for a few hours. I hear my brother's alarm, so loud it's a wonder that it doesn't give him a heart attack when it goes off, and I know it's almost time to go. I grab my husky's leash, pull on my warm boots, take another gulp of water, and we head out the door.
We pull up to the entrance of Hosac. "No Trespassing," the sign says, but everyone ignores the warning because it's something that's hardly enforced. We set out ~ 3 adults, 2 dogs. The moon that was once a beacon in the sky has hidden behind a dark cloud, and we can barely see where we are going. We can hear movement in the woods on either side, and I can't help but feel that we are in a horror movie or a Stephen King novel (we are in Maine after all) and something is going to leap from the darkness at any moment. The full moon the filled the sky before it was overcome with shyness adds to the spookiness, and we start laughing about werewolves and other monsters, and before we know it, the creepiness is gone and its just us and the path ahead.
Hosac isn't a long hike and it most certainly isn't the most difficult, but for us, who don't do this everyday, it definitely isn't the easiest. We have to stop for a short break after every steep climb, the path is slick with ice in the sub-freezing temperatures, and we are concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and out, and keeping watch for possibly angry moose.
The last hill comes into sight, and it's the steepest one yet. I take baby steps, my husband in front of me with our husky, Anouk, and my brother behind me with his dog, Dixie. We are huffing for breath at this point, but the end is in sight and the sun is starting to rise - the whole reason we're here in the first place, and we don't want to miss it. We try to hurry, baby steps, and pretty soon, the path levels out and we can catch our breath. We look around, and we can see the little specks of houses in the town of Limerick miles away. The white-tipped peak of Mt. Washington is barely in view, and we feel as if we're on top of the world. We snap a few pictures, tie the dogs so they can rest, and we pick the best seat in the house to view the sunrise on this beautiful, brisk morning.
We sit and laugh and talk for about half an hour, and then it happens. A small orb of red tinted orange appears on the horizon and not thirty seconds later the sun makes its debut in full force, and we know the sweat and strenuous effort was totally worth it.
We all sit for a few more minutes, and my brother's stomach growls so loud I'm surprised it didn't echo down the mountain for all to hear. It's time to go. This is the scariest part for me - seeing the bottom, trying not to fall on my but as I inch my way down the steep decline. My husband slips on the ice once, but catches himself, and the dogs look back at us like they are telling us to hurry up, they're ready to move.
We find ourselves in unfamiliar territory, and we realize we've made a wrong turn. We think about turning back, but decide to trudge onward - we'll find our way. Definitely the right decision. New views, new scenes, and a new path - keeps it interesting. We find the exit, climb over the fence and another "No Trespassing" sign, and find ourselves on another road about a mile from the car. At least there's no steep hills this time.
We've made it home finally, and it's only 8:30 AM, and we feel as if a whole day has passed. We grab some grub, the dogs curl up on the couches and conk out, and we try to figure out what to do with the rest of our long day.
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