If you like this series of Peabody River pictures, you might enjoy my Blurb collection The Secret River.
Now see these:
If you like this series of Peabody River pictures, you might enjoy my Blurb collection The Secret River.
Now see these:
If you like this series of Peabody River pictures, you might enjoy my Blurb collection The Secret River.
Now see these:
If you like this series of Peabody River pictures, you might enjoy my Blurb collection The Secret River.
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
If you like this series of Peabody River pictures, you might enjoy my Blurb collection The Secret River.
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp park, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp park, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp park, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Dolly Copp park, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Dolly Copp camp ground, New Hampshire
Now see these:
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Kopp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Copp Park, New Hampshire
Bridging the Peabody River, near Dolly Copp Park, New Hampshire
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
02.12.09
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
02.11.09
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire; Graflex 4×5 pinhole.
Now see these:
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire; Graflex 4×5 pinhole.
01.15.09
Peabody River, near Gorham, New Hampshire; Graflex 4×5 pinhole.
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
Now see these:
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
Peabody River, New Hampshire.
We’ve returned to this spot on the Peabody for four years running now, to spend a lazy summer afternoon on the rocks; it’s always the same, and always different, like Heraclitus’ river:
No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.
With Granddad at the top of Mount Washington.
Cog Railway up Mount Washington.
Cog Railway up Mount Washington.
Here’s our guide and brakeman on the Mount Washington cog railway ride. On the way up, the brakeman (or brake gal in our case) doesn’t have much to do; gravity keeps the car from moving very fast, with the tons of steel and coal pushing behind it. But on the way down, she didn’t have much time for chatter; she was constantly at the two big wheels that controlled the braking system to check our descent. The trip down was a lot faster than the trip up . . .
One bit of Mount Washington lore that she didn’t tell us (and that I don’t recall seeing in the museum at the base of the mountain) was the 1967 train crash that killed eight passengers and injured seventy. There’s only one line up and down, so there are a series of complex switches that allow one train to sit on a siding while another train passes; apparently a switch was set improperly, causing the descending engine to derail and sending the passenger car hurtling down the track (the engine itself being the most effective brake).
It’s the brakeman’s task to inspect the switches after they’re set to avoid another tragedy; and for forty years they’ve done a fine job, though I’m sure there’s a fair amount of pressure on the brakeman’s mind during the inspection.
The maximum grade on the cog railroad is 37.41%, with an average of 25%. This is incredibly steep–climbing to the front of the car during the assent takes some effort, and heading back down requires considerable care so as not to end up in a pile at the back.
We rode the cog railroad up Mount Washington on our summer trip, our first actual steam-engine ride. Up to now, all of our trains have been diesels or electrics; the cog railroad engine burns a ton of sooty coal and boils a thousand gallons of water on its way up the highest mountain in New England (and not nearly so much on the way down, with gravity helping out).
Peabody River, outside Gorham, New Hampshire.
There’s not much difference to show from one year to the next in the river; fast as the current moves, it slices through granite very slowly. The change is in the small boys playing in the river; they’ve grown a lot since their first visit when they were three years old.
On the Peabody River.
Peter in the Peabody River.
The is from a roll of film from the Holga used this summer to capture our ritual trip to the Peabody River in New Hampshire. As I’ve noted before, this secret spot off the Mount Washington highway is my favorite place in New England, and maybe in the world: a crystal-clear, chilly stream that tumbles through smooth rocks and shallow pools on its way from the Presidential Range to the Androscoggin and on to the sea.
This is the end of the “Secret River” series, at least for a little while–I may have some Spotmatic shots of the Peabody as well. Tomorrow is the first day of kindergarten, so a whole new kind of adventure is starting…
Jack and Peter on the Peabody River, a few days before their fifth birthday.
An’ it sall pass on a simmer’s day,
When the sin shines het on evera stane,
That I will tak my little young son,
An’ teach him for to swim his lane.The Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie from The Oxford Book of Ballads, Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (1910)
I’m not sure if the natives of the Peabody River area have any legends about creatures who emerge from the chilly waters to take human form for a time, the way the people of the rocky shores of Ireland and Scotland do about the selkies; if not, there ought to be some developed–a secret river like this deserves some monsters.
Peter among the rocks on the Peabody River, near Gorham, NH.
What could be better, when you’re almost five years old, than having your Granddad carry you over the secret river?
A bit further up the Peabody River from our secret swimming hole is the site of Albert Bierstadt’s 1870 painting, The Emerald Pool. For a fascinating discussion of this painting and its place in the cultural and economic history of the region, I direct your attention to the (somewhat scholarly, but still worth plowing through) article by Nancy Siegal in the Autum 2005 issue of Nineteenth Century Art Worldwide: “I never had so difficult a picture to paint”: Albert Bierstadt’s White Mountain Scenery and The Emerald Pool.
Not that this picture has much to do with Bierstadt’s application of his approach to Western landscapes to the more intimate settings of the East, except for proximity. I’ve tried to capture here the clarity of the water (the pool in the foreground is a couple feet deep), and a lone trout flyfisher who was working her way down the Peabody while we played on the rocks. This is by far my favorite place to visit on our too-infrequent trips to see Granddad; it’s as simple a pleasure as you can find. And so long as you keep it a secret between just us, it will remain so for another hundred and fifty years.
Pssst… let me tell you a secret. Remember, this is just between you and me; don’t tell anyone else.
Take highway 16 south from Gorham, NH, toward Mount Washington, about five miles. On your right, you’ll see a sign for the Dolly Copp campground; don’t turn there. Go another mile or so down the road. If you pass a sign for the Dolly Copp picnic area, you’ve gone too far; turn around, being careful not to hit any moose or cars from Massachusetts. There’s a wide spot off to the side of the highway, between the campground and picnic area; pull off there.
Then make your way down through the brush and over the rocks, following the sound of the Peabody River, and you’ll come to the most magical place in northern New England.
A few hours ago, the clear, cold water tumbling through the granite channel carved by ancient glaciers was snow on the Presidential Range of the White Mountains; it hasn’t warmed up very much in its fall toward the Androscoggin. This water is so clear that you can’t tell how deep it is–at some points it may cover your ankles, at others it could rise to your chin, but all you can see are the gold and brown and green veins running through the granite, and the tiny boulders the river rolls along the river bed as it grinds them down to dust. It may take the river a million years to dissolve a stone, but the river is patient and persistent.
Cold as it is, you have to step in; make sure you remove your socks and shoes, and feel gingerly with your toes along the granite floor for the gaps and cuts where the lichens haven’t made the rocks too slippery. But if you do slip, don’t worry–it’s never terribly deep here, and slipping is the best way to get yourself into the cold. Besides, the sun will warm you up nicely if you stretch out on a rock and put your ear close to the river, and you can listen to it whispering its secrets of its journey from the mountains to the sea as you dream of silver fish and shady pools.
Remember, though, this is a secret, just between you and me.
One of my favorite Argus double exposures–Jack and Peter (and Jack and Peter) play in a New Hampshire stream.
| Posted in 35mm, Black & White, New Hampshire, Summer, Yashica | 1 Comment »