Already as we set out, the morning atmosphere seemed stifling, humid and hot, not much of a breeze, the glare of the sun demanding sunglasses. How ever did we manage without air conditioning comes to mind? There were small white moths and Yellow Admirals spiralling the air all around the cottage, and orange hawkweed was in bloom, nestled in the grasses along with stunted daisies.

We took a short route to the Rattlesnakes after our obligatory stop to pick up the Boston Globe. The large gas station cum-snack bar/grocery that had always been so busy now has far fewer customers stopping by. That may change next week when Motorcycle Week takes place, a week later than usual, to our great relief. At the Rattlesnake parking lot, a handful of cars before us, two people who had descended informed us that the black flies were in full biting mode, so we reluctantly used "Off", and set off, expecting rain at some juncture.

The ascent is no breeze, but relatively speaking, brief, no more than 800 ft. I'd gauge. Footing is complicated by erosion resulting partially from the site's popularity which caused the good folk involved in the pride of maintaining a community-popular hiking area to build up rough timber 'stairs' to enable people in manoeuvring their way up the slope. To our way of thinking, it had been much better before these initiatives had been undertaken, many years ago when we first came to this area with our children.

When we first ventured there for quick initial climbs with our children there had not yet been attempts at preservation like the stone and timber steps later installed, along with the more necessary runoff interventions. The stone steps, meant to be helpful, are irritating, but their presence is permanent, so we forge over and sometimes around them. We took our time in the ascent, a real challenge for Riley, overweight, elderly and stubby-legged, but he was game enough.

In that forest fastness oak, white and red pine and maple predominate, with some beech and hemlock and an understory of dogwood and moose maple, primarily. The forest floor is blanketed with lilies of the valley. As we arrived, a resident Northern thrush burst its melodic song into the forest silence. Later, an ovenbird added its metronomic song. We met climbers descending and many who passed us, ascending. Those from the area charmingly friendly; those from out of state (Mass.) grimly standoffish. We'd carelessly forgotten water for Riley back in the truck, and a disposable water bottle was thrust at us for him, when we realized and voiced our dismay by a kindly animal lover who was descending.

We went first to the right, once we gained height, where the lookout provided really pleasing views, then turned to the left leading to the summit where several groups of three were resting, snacking, taking photographs. Our descent afterward was swift, with threatening clouds cruising overhead. Descending a whole lot less stressful, not battling gravity, the prevailing heat and tired limbs quite so much, but finding it useful to carry Riley much of the way down, an over-heated, physically stressed little dog puzzled by the incessant blockages.

As we reached our parked truck, rain began, as so often occurs at this area. When we were younger, it was the Sandwich Mountain trails that attracted us to this spot, while we were possessed of physical endurance and greater curiosity. How our times have changed.