It's a fairly short drive from the cottage where we stay in the Waterville Valley to get to the Franconia Notch, in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire. About a half-hour, and it's a pleasant drive, mountains enclosing us from every viewpoint on the highway. We had, hours earlier, seen a sobering sight, not associated with the forests, mountains and lakes of New Hampshire. When we took Jackie and Jillie out for their first brief stroll on the grounds, we suddenly became aware of a slow procession of trucks on the near highway, and stopped to watch from our vantage point.

First there was an official fire department vehicle, then a fire truck, and then a succession of municipal trucks, driving very slowly, lights on flash mode, but no sirens, no sound whatever. There was a mournful quality to the procession, as though it was that of a funeral. It was in fact a memorial to the accident in nearby Maine when a propane gas explosion levelled an institute for the handicapped building the day before. A civilian worker and a fire captain lost their lives while responding to the emergency call of a strong gas odour. As they went about evacuating people, the gas exploded, destroying the building, killing two, injuring and hospitalizing seven others.

We continued on with the day, leaving the cottage to head out to the Notch, planning to visit The Basin, where an ancient streambed down mountainsides had carved a wide, deep bowl at the mountain base where the foaming, fuming water thrashes wildly in a circular motion into the basin and onward to join the Pemigewasset River. Not far from the basin there is what is called the Baby Flume, where the geological feature of the basin is repeated, funnelling the furious water on its way with a tremendous velocity.

With Jackie and Jillie on leash we negotiated a relatively short, tricky-footing trail from the main trail in front of the basin where most people tend to gather, toward the baby flume. It's a worn trail, almost as worn as the major basin trail we would later take, both generously laddered with tree roots and rocks, surrounded by forest. It's quite a sight to view the water gushing downstream into the flume, and onward, and we stayed awhile simply to goggle with wonder.

And then we made our way back, past the basin, and on up toward the trail, a steady climb over a damp trail that many hiking boots have over the years tramped through, creating the inevitable erosion of the soil that lies over the granite of the mountain. There are a number of flattened areas of wide, grey granite that beckon the hiker to break their momentum and mosey over to sit on the rockface and contemplate the water falling in great gushing streams down the mountain, over a series of cascades created by the geology.

We keep climbing, as the footing becomes more complex and noted this time that the trail wasn't quite as swampy as it often is, for we've been doing this climb to enjoy this beautiful landscape for decades. Eventually we stop when we feel we've achieved enough height and we're tired enough from the exertion, and make our way through a brief sidetrail to the granite slope inviting us to rest awhile and refresh Jackie and Jillie with water and cookies.

Our eyes are drawn to the rocky surface, to the walls rising above, to the huge erratics that have fallen down the mountainside to settle where they have fallen, immovable and impressive, the water coursing steadily around them, finding their way back to the runnels that time and water has etched into the carapace of the mountain. We see stunted evergreens and some truly massive trees as well. And wonder how tree roots can even establish themselves on the soil deposited over thousands of years to create a forest on a mountainside.

All the more when we see trees growing where none should, where the soil is barely there, and roots cling desperately more to mineral than soil. A beautiful, clear, sunny and windy day.