All-night rain led to a dusk-dark morning with rain persisting when we awoke from a placid sleep on Tuesday, June 9th. The rain was by turns heavy and lighter at times with the forecast for the rain to stop around noon. And then, once again, another weather system to take over, with a series of thunderstorms likely throughout the afternoon. Typical mountain-area weather, in other words; not particularly well chosen for ascending steep heights in prolonged climbs, but we weren't planning on any, not any more, unlike our much earlier years in the area when the summits beckoned and would not be refused.

Given the weather we took our time with our morning routine, lingering long over breakfast, the puppies relieved that we weren't taking them out, forcing raincoats on them, dragging them as it were, through the wet grass to perform their duties. They made quick work of these outings, anxious to return to the dry atmosphere of the indoors, less amenable to playing about outdoors; rain does that to them, just as it does to us.

Finally, we prepared to leave the cottage after eleven; kitchen and bathroom cleanup tended to, beds made up, along with a bit of vacuuming. Just as well we never eat lunch; a time-wasting, unnecessary habit we've long dispensed with. We assembled our rain gear, water, doggy treats, and set off, the sky deep in dark clouds, still weeping steadily.

Stopped on the way for a copy of the Boston Globe and drove on to the Mad River forest of the Waterville Valley to revisit Smarts Brook, though we had really meant to go on to the Franconia Notch to visit the Basin; the weather persuading us otherwise. Knowing it would be raining heavily there, choosing the alternative. Mist hung off the mountains, rising from the valleys and obscuring clear views of the trail sight lines. It was cooler there than at the cottage and just as well, since that made wearing our rain jackets more comfortable.

The sound of the brook rushing down the slopes encountering the boulders strewn on the floor of the water raceway was as close to thunderous as the sound of fury belting down from a stormy sky, albeit more melodious as we ventured deeper into the forest. No one other than ourselves willing to hike in the light rain under the protective canopy of the woods.

Once we completed our fairly short trek, and back in the truck, the skies opened again with a vengeance, one violet-charcoal cloud burst after another, and we marvelled at the good fortune of our timing, beautifully serendipitous. On we drove, the mountains looming before and beside us, their summits hidden in dense fog and mist, as one rain event after another drenched the landscape, drumming on the truck roof as we headed back to the group shop at Laconia to mosey about in there a little more.